Dinanshiral
by GarnetMask
Summary: Solas had resigned himself to the path he'd take and swore that he would not allow her to take that journey with him. Lavellan, however, took her own journey that kept her invariably tied to him. Read if you're interested in a long, exciting epic post-Inquisition. Solavellan (of course) and more within!
1. Skyhold

**Welcome! Thanks for checking out my story! I'm really excited to work on this and I hope you enjoy.**

**After watching the teaser for DA:4, I'm itching to get my own story out of my head cannon.**

**So, really quickly, some notes to consider:**

**1) ****I've only very recently played the Dragon Age games and started with Inquisition. When I named my Lavellan character, I got attached to the name "Sara", completely unaware that there was another blond elf named "Sera" that would be intimately involved in the story.**

**My Lavellan's name will still be "Sara", unless enough of you feel that it's distracting.**

**If you don't, I promise there'll be plenty of name puns.**

**2) This story follows events post-Trespasser and will be written in three, multi-chapter parts.**

**3) The rating is certainly for upcoming chapters and spans sexual themes, profanity and violence.**

**4) Expect a new chapter every 2 weeks. When the parts change, expect a month break.**

**Happy reading!**

**~Garnet**

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~ Dinanshiral~

**Part 1: Skyhold**

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The wheels of the carriage whined and groaned, making the journey more uncomfortable than Sara would have liked. At each tired groan and rumble, she thought back to her girlhood. Her father drove one of the smaller aravels and everything about them made the impending journey seem exciting, as if they would always venture into some new and prosperous world. The wheels would squeak and chirp like a gaggle of chicks and all the able children in her clan would run beside the aravels and ahead, to see where the road would take them.

The carriage was different. As much as she would like to stand and walk to stretch her legs and take in the smell of rain in the air, but it was her that insisted on discretion. When she left Skyhold for the last time, she told her drivers to only stop at night and move quickly during the day. The carriage would be unadorned and small. Anything she could afford to leave behind or sell was gone. All she took with her fit into one trunk.

Varric made a fine travelling companion. He wrote often, though boiled with anger when the carriage hit bumps that ruined his work. At night, there was always a story told to the locals at the taverns they slept at and an occasional game of Wicked Grace played into the morning. He helped Sara through occasional boughts of seasickness as they sailed across the Waking Sea and was eager to point out different landmarks he'd visited.

He was most excited to show her Kirkwall. "Things are much better there. I've secured you a manse in Hightown, but you're more than welcome to visit me whenever you're bored. And don't neglect Lowtown. There are gems there if you look. Oh, and if I catch you at The Blooming Rose, I'll be forced to tattle on you to Cassandra," he finished with a wink and Sara laughed, despite her forlorn mood.

It was difficult, watching everyone leave Skyhold one by one. From the pilgrims that only joined them on faith, with no aspiration but to serve and do the will of the Herald of Andraste, to the soldiers that had fought and lost many of their comrades and were prepared to continue fighting if she asked them to. The grounds went from bustling with activity to desolate and barren. Master Dennet received a formal escort back to his home in the Hinterlands, but left Sara with the chestnut stallion he gifted her when they met and a palomino filly to take to her estate in Kirkwall.

Many of the conscripted Templars elected to return to lives they'd long sacrificed for the Chantry. With Leliana as Divine, there was no need for them to return to Val Royeaux so without the Inquisition, they were wayward and disillusioned.

As the population of Skyhold dwindled, each day was more difficult to bear without tears. Josephine was the first to leave.

"I must sail before the autumn storms, or else I'll be here alone all winter," Josephine said with a half smile as she cleared away her office. Sara had been given that same smile by several different people. Behind it was an attempt at strength, as if to say, "All will be well" but with little conviction. Sara rubbed her left elbow, just above where her arm once was and forced out a chuckle. "If you were stuck here, I'd stay behind with you," she replied.

"Thank you, In–" Josephine's small smile fell and she cleared her throat in embarrassment. "You are too kind."

Afterward, she asked for privacy as she packed and Sara indulged her. The final time they spoke was in farewells and a half-hearted promise to visit Antiva once she was settled in Kirkwall.

Vivienne had stayed behind in Halamshiral during the Exalted Council and simply sent her servants to collect her belongings. Once her loft was empty, one of her servants left behind a small note.

_My dear, do see that Kirkwall has the proper amenities for a woman of your new station. You deserve every comfort. Make sure that you have the finest chef, seamstress and housekeeper in your service and do not fraternize with any suitor beneath you. If you ever need a reminder of exactly what you deserve, do write me immediately. While I find the Free Marches quaint and drab, I will come to you at once if I hear that you're still wearing wool stockings. Safe travels, my dear. Vivienne._

After tucking that letter in her belt, Sara wandered the grounds. The tavern, once consistently alive with energy, was already dusty with disuse. Outside, Bull helped his Chargers load casks of ale and wine onto a cart. There were more casks left off the cart that Bull and Krem argued about keeping or leaving behind.

"Why are you taking all of that? Isn't there wine in Tevinter?" Sara asked with a laugh.

"Have you ever had wine from Tevinter, Boss?" Bull shook his head with a chuckle. "It has the absolute gall to be dry but weak or sweet but laced with hot peppers or some old Magister's blood. The drinks there are almost pranks."

"What taverns did you go to in Tevinter, Chief?" Krem asked, his eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

"Well, the one with the sweet pepper wine was in a brothel outside of Minrathous," Bull replied. "In any case, I'm not going straight to Tevinter, Boss."

"Really?" Sara went to fold her arms, a habit when she was comfortable, but brushed the stump under her elbow and flushed awkwardly.

Bull pretended not to notice and said, "Yeah. The Chargers got hired to take down a pair of dragons in Rivain. Some noble prick wants to marry his chamber maid but he needs to pay the girl's father with scales before he can marry her. He's paying us more than the scales are worth, but I figured it would be a fun distraction."

"Distraction?"

"Dorian's holed up working on _Magister things, _so I figured I'd kill some time," Bull explained.

"Well, be careful," Sara said, her smile sly. "Dorian will spend all his time with you fretting if you come to him with new burns and scars."

"Trust me, Boss, I'll find better things for him to do with his mouth if he gets too chatty."

They shared a laugh and it nearly echoed off the ramparts it was so empty. The silence that followed was long and comforting, each of them unsure of what to say and neither of them wanting to utter the words, "Good bye".

Instead, Bull pat her on the back and murmured, "Take care, Boss."

Unbidden, the first thing that came to Sara's mind was as childish as it was troubled, "I'm not technically your boss anymore." It was an absurdly juvenile thing to say, but it was the only way she could convey how deeply she'd miss him.

"We give ourselves nicknames under the Qun, remember," he replied. "You'll always be 'Boss' to me."

That was enough for them, as when the Chargers left, all Bull did was lift his hand in a solemn wave.

Cassandra and Blackwall watched them depart with her. Cassandra muttered something about sending a last letter to Leliana and excused herself.

"So," Sara began, "When are you leaving for Weisshaupt?"

"In three days," Blackwall replied. "The next time you see me, I'll be Warden Rainier."

"I'm proud of you, Thom," she said. He almost smiled. Almost.

"Thank you, my lady. I'm proud to have been apart of this. If I wasn't, I don't know where I'd be." Blackwall looked at his feet. "You have this strange thing you do, where you bring out the best in people, almost against their nature. I thank you for doing that for me when I couldn't do it for myself."

He gave her a reverent bow and murmured, "If anyone can stop Solas, it's you."

_Solas_...

No one had mentioned him since returning to Skyhold, as if he never existed. That was fine for Sara as she didn't wish to confront what happened. At first, she walked into the Exalted Counsel in a rage she didn't know was within her. After formally disbanding, she went back to her room in the palace, took one look at herself in the looking glass beside her bed and wept. She could barely process being without one of her arms or losing the home she made for herself through the Inquisition. The only emotion at the forefront of her mind was near crippling heartache. She thought that she'd dealt with the betrayal she'd felt when he first left Skyhold after they defeated Corypheus. Now she had just as few answers as she did then and more pain.

_Stop_, she thought. _Think of something else. Anything else._

"So, Bull's gone now, yeah?"

Sera sat on the roof of the tavern, her feet swinging in agitation. "Yes," Sara replied. "He and the Chargers are gone."

"Well, that's... cruddy, innit? Come sit with me, yeah? For old time's sake." Sara climbed the stairs in the empty tavern, opened the window in Sera's room and sat beside her on the roof. "Do you have any cookies?" Sara asked, teasing.

"What? No. Josie left behind a tin of those little pink cookies from Lady Rich-tits, but they're no good. I mean what kind of cookie also looks like a shiny sandwich and tastes like Vivi's perfume? What cheap idiot thought that was a good idea?" Sera's eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. "You're a _lady _now, you know. Those little cookies are going to be given to you every day."

"You think so?" Sara replied.

"Well, it only makes sense, right? Pink flower cookies every night and one day you wake up and you're not people." Sera sighed, her features softening slowly. "Please don't forget to be people."

"I won't."

Sera took a breath and smiled, wrapping her arms around Sara. "It's good, though, innit? There are noble shits in Kirkwall so I'll be around, right? Not 'good bye', just 'til next time'."

A few days later, Sera was gone, too. The only thing left behind was an arrow with red feathers left on the door to Sara's chambers.

Cassandra and Cullen departed on the same morning in opposite directions. Cullen was returning to his family for a visit while Cassandra intended on joining Leliana as an adviser. Cullen bid farewell with a formal bow and a promise to rejoin Sara if she ever needed him. Cassandra parted with her solemnly, her embrace unexpected and strong.

"Please write Leliana and I once you arrive in Kirkwall. Once there, we'll have a secure location to discuss our efforts in tracking down Solas." Cassandra was as determined as ever, though they constantly disagreed about whether Solas could be redeemed.

"I will," Sara replied. "Once I'm settled, maybe you can visit."

"I intend to," Cassandra said firmly. She studied Sara's face for a moment, likely looking for doubt or distress, but if she saw it, she didn't mention it. "I hope you know what you're doing. Travelling all the way to Kirkwall with only Varric for company will likely be the most difficult thing you do all year."

Sara laughed despite herself. "I'm sure I'll be fine, Cassandra."

"Good." Cassandra chuckled as well and embraced her once more. "Farewell, my friend."

With that, Skyhold was nearly empty. Sara would spend the night with spirits while she waited for Varric to arrive with the carriage to Kirkwall. For hours, she wandered the halls, trying to commit every detail to memory. Especially the rotunda. The mural was what she'd probably miss the most. She'd spent days watching the room become blank and colorless to an homage to her achievements. Solas would swirl paint on a palate together, trying to find perfect colors that satisfied him. She wondered what it would have looked like if he finished. The room reminded her of them; all bright and full of life and beauty and mystery and then suddenly incomplete.

Sara felt a chill go up her spine as familiar whispering flowed through her ears. _The Well_, Sara realized. It hadn't spoken to her since she'd seen Solas and she wondered if he took that away when he took the anchor as well, but the voices still spoke to her.

_Ma nadas,_ the Well whispered... _Ma nadas theneras... Theneras, da'len..._

Sara couldn't even think of sleeping. Not alone in this great keep. No. She would sleep later, in the carriage. Far away from Skyhold.

In the meanwhile she climbed the stairs to the library and gathered the books left behind with the intention of sending them to Dorian when she reached Kirkwall. They'd parted back in Halamshiral with difficulty. They hugged more times than necessary and each burst into tears at least once. Since being back at Skyhold, he wrote her twice. They were short missives filled with funny nonsense but they made her smile.

_I expect that you're already missing me. A pity you couldn't join me for a stay in Minrathous. You're confused expression would keep me cheerful at the Magisterium. Alas, I must content myself with flirting with my serving girl. She reminds me of you a bit. The way she blushes whenever I even look in her direction reminds me of how you would get with- Actually, never-mind my rambling, Sara. Don't forget to write me when you get to Kirkwall. I can't wait to hear about how ghastly the decorations are. Give Bull my love. Dorian._

The halls of Skyhold were black when night fell and Sara only had a single torch to navigate back to her chambers until morning. All the way back, the Well insisted on telling her to sleep and to dream and it was all she could do to ignore the voices. They never stopped speaking. Even as she slipped into her tub for a final bath, brushed out her pale blond hair and put on a loose dressing gown, they chanted on about sleep and dreams.

"Please, stop," Sara murmured to them. "Just stop talking."

"But I haven't said anything yet."

Sara yelped in surprise and spun to see Cole standing on her balcony a few steps away. She covered her heart with her hand and took a breath. "Cole? Come inside. What are you doing here?"

"I came to help," he replied gently. "Everyone's goodbyes are hurting you. You feel alone, rejected, sad. The clan you were born into is gone. The clan you built for yourself is gone."

"Please, Cole. I can't–"

"Everything was too good to be true. You had family, friends, love. And lost everything–"

"Cole," Sara snapped but quickly softened her voice. "Please. I don't want to talk right now. I'll be fine. Just stop talking."

"Sara," Cole said, his voice firm but quiet, _"You must dream."_

The words made her break out in chills. How could he possibly know about the Well and what it was saying. She glanced toward him and he was gone, as quickly as he was there. He was a spirit of compassion and always meant well, but he couldn't know what he was asking. She didn't realize that she stopped dreaming since returning from Halamshiral. The dreams there were too agonizing. Her eyes would close and she'd wander and find Solas, just far enough out of her reach, but close enough to feel his presence envelop her completely. Perhaps she _must _dream to somehow conquer that feeling. Perhaps he had stopped coming to watch her dream.

Sara sighed and tossed her torch into the hearth before going to her bed and getting comfortable. She closed her eyes and almost immediately, felt pulled into the Fade.

The bed melted away and she was falling... more like floating... hovering as the stone ceiling of Skyhold transformed into cloudy skies pierced by silver moonbeams. When she finally landed, dew covered blades of glass tickled her skin and made her shiver at the cold. The pasture was filled with will'o'wisps that reminded Sara of blue fireflies and as she sat up, she realized that the dew nearly made her skin sparkle. This wasn't the Fade she remembered from her time there and it was slightly unnerving.

"Cole? Cole, did you bring me here?"

But she was seemingly alone. The air was so still and cool if Sara was braver she'd enjoy resting there, but part of her wanted to be back in Skyhold, where she knew there was nothing to fear.

"Wake up, Sara," she whispered and pinched her arm. "Wake up." She pinched again and the realization that she was pinching low on her left wrist hit her. Sara raised her hand above her head and looked at her former arm blankly. _The Fade is so cruel_, she thought with a bitter laugh.

Off in the distance, a white wolf with a pair of bright blue eyes stared at her from behind a tree. Warmth surrounded her and the wisps began to leave the field. Sara met eyes with the wolf and laughed again, her heart twisting. "Why don't you come closer, Solas?" she asked sarcastically, lying back on the grass. He shifted behind the tree and disappeared as if he was never there.

"Typical," she muttered but unlike other time's he'd left, the warmth he brought with him lingered and slowly intensified. Faintly, she could hear the grass softly crinkling under footfalls. Sara closed her eyes and whispered, "Wake up, Sara."

The dew was still cool across her back as she felt him sit beside her silently, his breathing slightly labored but quiet. After a moment, he took her hand and gently ran his thumb across her knuckles, the gesture so comfortable and familiar she nearly squeezed his hand, as she would've before. Instead she kept her eyes closed and body stiff, while she simply waited to wake.

"How did you find this place?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost like he was speaking to a scared child and didn't wish to frighten her further.

Against her better judgement, Sara glanced at him and replied, "I think Cole brought me here." Cole, perhaps, or the Well wanted her to dream in this place for some reason. Maybe they both wanted the same thing; she couldn't be sure. "You've been here before?" she asked.

"This is where I would come to meet with a spirit of wisdom," Solas explained. "Seeing you here was... unexpected."

"Is this what I should expect from you then?" Sara asked, her tone somewhere between anger and despair. "A conversation once every few months in the Fade."

"I cannot promise you that, _vhenan_," he murmured.

"You could," she countered. "If you wanted to."

"It isn't that simple." Sara glared at him, intending to argue, but was instead taken aback by how serene he looked in the field. Unburdened by what he would have to do when he woke, his eyes seemed to shine in the moonlight. The last time she saw him, his eyes were so dull, unyielding, but here she almost saw more of who she came to love.

"I've lingered too long," he said suddenly and made to stand before Sara caught his arm.

"Wait."

_This is a mistake_, she thought but said, "Just stay until I wake up."

The look her gave her was doubtful and hesitant. This wouldn't be easy for either of them, letting the other go, but Sara felt that it shouldn't be. If it were easy, it meant her feelings for him were more fleeting than she thought. As difficult as this was, it meant that what they shared was not only real and true, but mutual. And somewhere deep in her heart, that was strangely comforting.

"Please." Her breath caught in her throat as he looked into her eyes, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away. Solas smiled softly, defeated and lacking the will to refuse her in this moment.

So he laid beside her, pulled her close and brought his arm around her shoulder. His hand rubbed her back in gentle strokes and Sara rested her head on his chest. She tried not to think of what could've been, if only he could let go and yet part of her loved that in him. His passion and drive completely endeared him to her at first and made her want to be the focus of his ardor. And she was, for a blissfully brief period of time she wished never ended. In moments like this, she clung to what was. She would be back in reality in the morning.

"_Tel'numin,_ _vhenan_," he whispered and Sara realized tears were dampening his shirt. Solas wiped his thumb across her cheek and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, then to her temples, across to the bridge of her nose, down to her cheek. When he reached her lips he faltered, waiting for the strength to pull away from her. He never found it.

Sara's stomach twisted at the memory and she was glad that Varric was sleeping so he couldn't see her blush. It was days ago, yet it felt like his touch still lingered on her skin. She would close her eyes and she was back in the field, completely explored and open and tingling with bliss. The wind would blow, carrying the memory of his low warm moans, the way he hummed out her name, a sudden gasp, a sharp breath-

Varric startled her out of her musing with a rough snort. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and took a glance through the window of the carriage. "Ah. Look, Sara."

High towers, the highest she'd ever seen, greeted her a few miles away. The town loomed over her with a strange feeling of foreboding. The smell of the sea hit her abruptly and all at once, she was full of excitement and disquiet. Her new life would begin in the walls of this city and part of her wished for a reprieve, time to forget.

Varric smiled proudly and tucked his arms behind his head. "Welcome to Kirkwall."

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**Elven phrases**

_Ma nadas theneras_: You must dream

_Da'len_: Little one

_Vhenan_: My heart

_Tel'numin_: Don't cry

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

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**Thanks for the read. Please Review!**


	2. Banal Silaima I

**Welcome back to _Dinanshral_!**

**This is the first chapter of Banal Silaima, in which we follow Solas through his deepest, life altering memories.**

**These chapters are not written chronologically, so keep that in mind as you read.**

**Also, just so you know, we'll move back and forth through Sara and Solas' perspectives for the duration of Part 1.**

**Thanks and Shoutouts:**

**-**Celestia8994: Thanks for the first EVER review, favorite and alert!

-Alakrux: Thanks for the alert!

**I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it.**

**~Garnet**

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**Banal Silaima I**

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Jealousy was not a color Solas wore well. He never had.

He was hot-headed when he was young and remembered more than one fight with other boys in the streets of Arlathan over many a pretty face. His first love was a nobleman's daughter, Oranna, with her pale orange hair and elegant smiles. He would hang out the window just for a look at her before his tutor pulled him back to his seat by the ear. At the time he was only six and she was a grown woman, but didn't quench his infatuation with her.

One day, as he practiced magic alone, a group of four older boys doused Oranna and her haindmaidens with ice water as they sat daintily on the fountain in the middle of Arlathan's square. Oranna cried and Solas went wild with rage. He tousled with all of them, from the youngest boy at ten and the oldest at probably thirteen. They shoved him around for a while, as he was only _six _and even they weren't cruel enough to truly fight back. Oranna, still damp, pulled them apart and caught Solas in a hug, before returning him to his tutor. He was inclined to be punished, or course, for fighting and causing a fuss in public. But Oranna begged his tutor for leniency. "He was defending my honor, _hahren_," she explained. "He should be rewarded not scolded."

With a smile and a quick peck on his cheek, Oranna left. The next time Solas saw her, she was wed and he felt the heartache keenly.

But he was to grow and there would be many more loves. In fact, he was sure he "fell in love" once a year.

One of the more memorable one's was in early adolescence, maybe fifteen years old. He'd begun attending a prestigious magical academy with other elves his age or older. The most talented mages in Elvhenan were brought there for advanced instruction and many of his longest friendships began there. Mythal teased him mercilessly about the girls that caught his eye. One in particular, a honey-haired girl named Elynn, made him flustered beyond reason.

One morning, when he and Mythal studied alone, he asked her to introduce him to Elynn.

"Are you kidding me, Solas?" she asked, her eyes brimming with tears of laughter. "_You_ go talk to her."

"I've tried," he explained. "I doubt she realizes I exist."

Mythal let out a bark of laughter. "Do you know why that is?"

"No," he replied.

Mythal cupped her hands over his ear and whispered, "Because everyone thinks you're courting _me_."

Solas grimaced. "That's disgusting."

"Then leave me alone. Go study with the other boys," she murmured through giggles. "Oh, right. The last time you did that you dueled someone."

The thought _almost _made his smirk with pride. Solas had shared sleeping quarters with three other young men from Arlathan, who he was rather close with at first. He ultimately found them all cocky without merit. One afternoon, he collaborated with them for a magical exhibition at the end of the term. Unbeknownst to Solas at the time, they places nearly imperceptible barriers around him to make his magic see sub-par. When he broke out of the barrier, he irately challenged all of them to a duel in front of their peers and the dean of the academy. Needless to say, their defeat was embarrassing. Afterward, Solas was placed in sleeping quarters with older young men better suited for his temperament.

"You say that like they didn't have that coming," Solas retorted and she laughed again.

"They did," she agreed and sighed exasperatedly. "Alright, _a__rani_. I'll tell Elynn that you fancy her."

"No, don't tell her _that. _Just tell her that I want to speak with her. Alone."

Mythal did him the favor but instead of Elynn meeting him in the campus' courtyard, an angry boy confronted him. Apparently, he'd been seeing Elynn for some time and was insulted by the invitation. While Solas respected their relationship, he hardly got a chance to explain that before the boy's fist collided with his nose, drawing blood. Eventually, they were separated and they were both punished by cleaning the grounds for half a year.

Fighting over girls was never worth the trouble, but that understanding came with a certain level of maturity. As he got older, Solas learned to ignore his jealousy as it had led to issues too many times to be reasonable.

For him to be as old as he is, he figured that he was beyond feelings as petty as jealousy, but alas, he managed to surprise himself.

He'd found comfort in the rotunda at Skyhold quickly and kept a small bedchamber off the gardens nearby. The trek through the mountains left most people weary and exhausted, but that seemed to fade when Sara Lavellan took the title of Inquisitor. Now, nearly everyone was driven and worked hard at renovating the keep and making new homes for themselves. Some were adjusting to Skyhold easier than others. Soldiers like Cassandra and Blackwall were grateful for simpler things, like a warm fire and stone walls. Vivienne, though, cringed with distaste whenever she saw Cole, refused to touch food that wasn't made with the finest ingredients they had (which were, of course, rare for the moment) and insisted on having her Orlesian furniture shipped to Skyhold.

It was clear to Solas that even though Sara agreed on allowing Cole to remain with the Inquisition, she was apprehensive. Which was curious, since she'd become especially close with the mage from Tevinter with no trouble. Dorian.

Every night it seemed like all Solas heard was laughter in the library above him. Giggling and painfully insipid flirting made the most of their conversations. It was annoying at best. He wondered when Sara learned to flirt. Whenever he'd even made the subtlest of passes at her, she dissolved into blushes and excused herself from the conversation, her eyes fluttering with an endearing shyness. However, with Dorian she was bold and witty. Very charming.

But he shouldn't be jealous. Not of Dorian. Nor for her. He'd known beauties in Arlathan that would make some women dissolve into a mess of insecurity. Not that Sara wasn't... appealing in her own way. Her hair was a light ash blonde that most would envy, though it was cut short and neat, to not impede her during battle. As a hunter for her clan, she had a strong, lean body, her face and shoulders covered with light freckles. Her smiles ranged from shy and sweet to sly and cunning. And there was always something about the way her eyes shone, like natural veridium.

Very well, then, she was pretty. He refused to accept that he was jealous of Sara flirting with Dorian instead of him. It was too childish.

Overhead, a deluge of cackling filled the room and Solas resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I want to know what you think her best feature is," Dorian said. "In fact, no one's exempt."

"Well, for Josephine, I'd have to say her grace. She's very elegant," Sara replied.

"You're almost too sweet," Dorian said mockingly. "I meant physically. We are surrounded by wonderfully respectable people, obviously. But what you think of their looks will help me understand how you think. What you value."

"Alright. We're starting with Josephine then?" Sara took a moment to ponder. "I would have to say it's her hair. It's beautiful."

"Hmm. I'm inclined to agree. What about Warden Blackwall? I think we'll have the same answer," Dorian said with a chuckle.

"What? Beard?" Sara giggled.

"Of course, the beard." They shared a laugh for a few moments before Sara quieted and asked, "Well what about The Iron Bull?"

Dorian paused, likely looking for some kind of eloquence. "Horns," he stated shortly.

"Horns? Just the horns?"

"Well pardon me, we are talking about _best _features, yes?" His tone was mildly embarrassed. "Were you going to say something else?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Sara replied. "I was going to say voice. It's very smooth and he's quite articulate."

"Only _you _would look at someone like Iron Bull and say his best feature is his voice," Dorian mumbled. "Alright, let's move on to Cullen." There was a pause. "If the next word out of your mouth isn't 'everything', I'm going to drag you to Sera's room."

"No, I mean." Sara laughed coquettishly. "I was trying to think of one. I think I'm going to say eyes, though."

"Really? Not rugged scar? Muscles? Hair? I could do this all night," Dorian said with a nervous laugh. "Let's move on."

"Gladly," Sara replied.

"Solas."

_Me? _Solas held back a laugh. _This ought to be mildly offensive at best._

"Solas?" Sara cleared her throat tensely. "I'm not sure..."

"Oh, I know," Dorian barked out a laugh. "Hairline."

_Hilarious_, Solas thought sarcastically, his eye roll almost painful.

Dorian laughed alone for longer than was necessary and stopped when he realized that Sara had not joined him. "I thought you were cleverer than that, Dorian."

"Oh, come now, that was funny," he argued. "I'd like to see you come up with something better."

"I was going to answer honestly," Sara replied firmly.

"Alright. Let's hear it then." Dorian's tone was dubious.

"Lips."

_Lips?_

"Lips?" Dorian sounded appalled. "I would never have... but now that you say that... he does have nice lips."

Sara laughed heartily. "Most elves do."

Solas had difficulty paying attention to the rest of their conversation. He wasn't self-absorbed enough to fathom what she could have said was his best feature but the last thing he thought she would say was something so intimate.

He mistook her for a simple Dalish girl, but perhaps she was more than she seemed. Hopefully, her uncommon nature shaped her into a decent leader. His mind drifted to one of the books brought to him on the Fade. He didn't need to think about the Inquisitor more than was appropriate.

Minutes, perhaps as much as an hour, passed before he heard steps climbing down the stairway in the library. When she entered the rotunda, Sara favored him with an amiable smile. "Good evening, Solas."

"Hello," he replied. He watched her gaze about the room from the corner of his eyes.

"This place is incredible," she murmured, moreso to herself likely, but Solas replied all the same, "Yes. Given time, Skyhold will transform into a modern marvel."

"You must have very interesting dreams here," Sara said. "Since it's so ancient and clearly has seen several owners."

"In truth, I haven't been able to deeply focus yet," Solas confessed. "My travels into the Fade have been rather ordinary lately."

"I don't know how travelling in the Fade could ever be ordinary," she said with a chuckle.

"I suppose you would have to experience it personally. Explaining may take all night," he joked.

"I'm interested in what you told me about yourself and your studies. If you have time, I'd like to hear more," she requested earnestly. _Truly? _he thought. _Very well then._

"You continue to surprise me. All right, let us talk... preferably somewhere more interesting than this." She followed without question as they walked across the empty throne room towards her private chambers. He wanted her to experience the Fade; to know how extraordinary it could be. As he sat beside her on her sofa, Solas discretely cast a spell that would make her drowsy.

"So," she began fighting off a yawn. "How many places can you visit in the Fade?"

"As many as you wish," he replied, his voice soft and hushed. "Are you tired, _da'len_?"

"No," she yawned. "No, excuse me, I'm-"

"You should rest," he murmured and the request was all but taken as her head collapsed on his shoulder. Solas adjusted himself slowly and let her lay on the sofa before taking her in his arms and placing her on her bed. Her breathing was deep even as he left her chambers. Crossing the hall, he walked briskly to his own chambers and forced sleep.

In the Fade, he found her close by, still sleeping peacefully. He called to memory a vision of Haven, a place he knew would affect her dearly and make her comfortable while they spoke. When he was satisfied with the mirage, he woke her. Like many deep dreams, she wouldn't remember how she came to arrive and when she woke, she couldn't even remember going to her chambers.

They spoke in the Fade on his experiences before officially meeting her; examining the mark on her hand, being repeatedly threatened by Cassandra, wondering what could be done to fix the Breach, contemplating leaving Haven to have time to learn how to seal the rifts.

"The Breach threatened the whole world," she commented. "Where did you plan to go?"

"Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me," Solas explained, noting her skeptical expression. "I never said it was a good plan."

He went on, explaining that he'd tried to use regular magic to seal the rifts to no avail and only felt hope when she arrived on the battlefield and closed the rift. Something he said had struck her considerably, as her eyes went wide and flush appeared across her cheeks.

"'Felt the whole world change?'" she repeated back to him, her voice insistent. Solas quickly tried to retrace his wording, but she had him caught. Something, perhaps many things, about her were especially endearing. He hadn't joined the Inquisition with the goal of courting her, but...

"You change... everything," he admitted and turned away from her gaze. Why had he said that? Why had he said _any _of this? It was more impulsive than he was comfortable being. _How do I stop this before it begins?_

Her lips ardently meeting his own made things even more complicated. Her kiss was brief, a test, easy to pull away from if he wanted. It was all very simple in his mind. _Tell her "no". Say that you never meant to encourage this feeling. Offer her friendship._

But his mind had been wrong before. And as her lips parted from his, he realized that he liked her lips, too.

He caught her arm and pulled her back, tasting her pout, feeling how well her body fit against him, nearly _swooning _when her hand went to caress the side of his face.

_Enough, _he thought. _Enough. _And he pulled away gently and looked at her face. Her eyes were glistening with want and her lips were slightly parted, taking soft eager breaths.

_No, _he realized. _It's not enough_

So, he kissed her again and would've again and again and again if he hadn't felt a sudden twinge of shame.

He shouldn't have entertained her advances. Never again. It was too aimless and would only lead to complicated feelings and pain.

When he woke, it was with the full intention to end whatever began between them. And when she came to visit him in the morning, he apologized for the intimacy.

"I'm not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble," he explained but he nearly fell apart when she gave him the sweetest smile, coated with a bit of fear at the possibility of his rejection.

"I'm willing to take that chance," she said, "if you are."

Solas felt young again, completely flustered and his composure nearly fractured right before her eyes. He couldn't outright refuse her; he surrendered the side of him that could deny her without remorse the moment they kissed.

"I... may be." To his utter frustration he stammered slightly. He couldn't even feign confidence. "Yes. If I could take a little time to think," he said, his palms a bit moist. "There are... considerations."

Later, after she'd taken her leave, he attempted to weigh out the consequences of courting her. But it was too much to decide in a few hours, despite wanting to know how her lips felt in the waking world. Regardless of how long he took thinking of words to kindly refuse her affections, as their bond could only go so far, his mind would not let him forget their kiss.

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Banal Silaima_: Never Forget

_Hahren: _Elder

_Arani_: My friend

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	3. Hightown

**Okay, welcome all. I hope you're enjoying yourselves so far.**

**Happy reading!**

**~Garnet**

* * *

**Hightown**

* * *

Hightown was far more beautiful than Sara expected as she traveled through Kirkwall. The buildings were compact with intricate stonework and there was a fountain or garden on nearly every corner. Varric educated her on the constant efforts to improve the entire city, but since most upper class people lived in Hightown, that section of Kirkwall saw the most improvements.

"The docks have really turned around and things are almost back to normal," Varric said, his grin wide and proud. "In a few days, I'll take you around Lowtown so you can get your bearings."

"You've already done so much for me, Varric," Sara murmured gratefully. "You don't have to be my tour guide."

"Nonsense. No one knows Kirkwall better than me. Except perhaps Hawke. When he returns from Weisshaupt, he's agreed to help you become acclimated to the city as well." Sara nodded enthusiastically and her stomach flipped as the carriage slowed to a stop. At the end of a polished cul-de-sac was a large manse hidden behind iron walls lined with vines of moonflower and wisteria.

The building was made of similar stone as the rest of the buildings in Hightown, though the shade from the trees in the front garden made it seem dark, gloomy and unapproachable. The entry path had been cleared of fallen leaves and the garden was relatively manicured. Varric swung the doors to the manse open with a flourish and Sara was nearly taken aback.

The main hall was brighter than it had any reason to be, considering the outside of the manse. Varric led her toward the back of the house where there was large dining hall with the first of several grand fireplaces and kitchen with a full pantry and wine cellar. Across the hall was a library that had a second story for reaching the higher bookshelves. Off the library was a cozy drawing room.

In the main hall, a pair of winding stair cases led to many of the guest rooms, of which there were six, the second floor of the library and another staircase leading to the master suite. Climbing on final flight of stairs, they paced around the opulent suite. The room was multi-tiered with a solar, actual separate room for her bed, a boudoir for her clothing and a lavatory with a large round tub in the center of the room.

"We'll take a look at furnishing today and also tomorrow if you want," Varric murmured as they circled the back garden lazily. "Until everything's ready, you can stay with me, of course."

"This is almost too much, Varric," Sara replied with a small laugh.

"Hey, if killing ultimate evil, ending the Orlesian civil war and closing dozens of tears in the sky doesn't _at least _get you a manse, I don't know what would," he joked.

Ultimately, she spent her first week in Kirkwall at the Viscount's Keep, as she did menial tasks such as picking out furniture and decor for her new home. Towards the end of the week, she found a small staff of six people to work in her house, including a cook, housekeeper, butler and three chambermaids. She also found a seamstress to rebuild her wardrobe; Sara was sure that Vivienne would be horrified by the simplicity of the clothing she ordered.

After a couple days, the manse was livable and Sara began sleeping there, even though it didn't quite feel like home. It was too big and she was lonelier than she thought she'd be. At night, when the manse was empty except for her, thoughts clawed at her mind almost until sunrise. One morning, she had her butler write to Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine and Dorian, assuring them that she had arrived in Kirkwall and was comfortable. She walked to the postage tower in Lowtown on her own and only got lost twice before finding her way back to the docks, which was along a direct path right to her home.

While she was in Lowtown, she visited the alienage there. To her surprise, she was instantly recognized and a group of children and young women surrounded her, asking to speak with her, requesting her blessing and kissing her fingers. It was almost overwhelming, but humbling as well.

She fed as many people as she could with the money she had with her, bought handmade embroidered muslin from a mother of six and made an offering to their _vhenadahl; _the next morning, a cart of fruit and bread was brought the alienage and Sara helped see that everyone got what they needed.

Sara considered her efforts in the alienage harmless, and she was surprised when she received a visit from an uncomfortable Varric.

"Well, shit," he murmured as introduction.

"Should I sit down for this?" Sara chuckled lightly and served them both tea.

"I mean, it's not _bad _news, exactly." Varric took a sip of tea and pulled a folded piece of paper from his lapel. "A friend of mine wants to meet you. I've told you about Merrill, right?"

Sara nodded into her cup. "Yes, of course." Merrill was a Dalish woman that worked closely with Varric and Hawke during the Battle of Kirkwall before the Mage-Templar War and the focus of several of Varric's tales.

"She and a few other elves would like to meet you to discuss your, um, philanthropic efforts lately." Sara smiled with relief. Why on earth would he be nervous about telling her that?

"I would love to meet them, Varric," she replied eagerly but he sighed and finished his tea quietly.

"Alright. Come by my place tomorrow. I'll host you."

The next morning was slightly gloomy with an impending storm and it seemed like just as Sara arrived at Varric's, rain began to lightly fall. She was escorted into the parlour where Varric was sitting at a round table with four other people. The energy in the room was instantly tense as Sara took the final open seat.

"Since we're all here, I'll do the introductions." Varric cleared his throat and pointed to Sara. "This is Sara Lavellan, Comtesse of Kirkwall. Sara," Varric motioned to the woman to his right. She was fair with dark brown hair and olive green eyes and a firm disposition. "This is Merrill, who requested this meeting." Merrill gave Sara a curt nod. Beside her was an older woman, with wavy white hair and hazel eyes. "And this is Reeba. The _Hahren _of Kirkwall's alienage." On Varric's left was another woman, young and garbed in armor with short auburn hair. "And Devela. She's been physically protecting the alienage for a few years now." Finally, beside Sara was a middle-aged man who had dark, distant eyes. "Meet Galen. He's the alienage's teacher. He keeps an eye on most of the mage children."

Sara looked them all over once. They did not seem especially welcoming. "It's a pleasure to meet all of you," Sara said formally.

Devela's eyes snapped up to her. "It's a shame we haven't met sooner, considering..."

"Considering what?" Sara asked, her voice tempered with slightly forced patience.

"Considering," Galen interceded, "your interest in our alienage and people."

"Is my interest confusing to you?" Sara glanced at each of them pointedly. "I would like to know if I've done anything to offend anyone here."

"Our efforts in improving the lives of elves in this city have taken years of work, Comtesse," Merrill stated calmly. "We would simply like to be sure that our intentions align."

"And," Reeba interrupted bluntly, "we'd like to clarify that we are not willing to let you come in an take control over people you know nothing about."

"'Take over people'?" Sara felt her cheeks flush with sudden anger and her stomach began to flip. "That isn't my intention."

"Then why wouldn't you come to us about your intentions?" Galen looked Sara over condescendingly.

"I only wished to help," she replied.

"Do you think you speak for all elves?" Devela asked so brazenly, Sara's mouth dropped open in alarm.

"Of course not." Sara's tone was colder than she intended and it completely worked against her.

"Are you sure? Isn't that what the Dalish do? Speak for all elves?" The smirk on Devela's face was so satisfied it was painful.

"That's enough," Merrill murmured. "We're not here to insult her."

"You must understand our apprehension, Comtesse," Galen said. "From what we know of you, anywhere the Lady Inquisitor walked bent to her will. We do not intend on having our efforts ignored because of you."

Sara could hardly hold back a bark of humorless laughter. "This is about _glory_? You want the credit for who helped the elves in Kirkwall more than you want actual progress." The churning in Sara's stomach rapidly became painful but she was too enraged to excuse herself. "It's frivolous things like this that keep us from improving the lives of our people."

"Please, can we all calm down?" Merrill looked completely disillusioned. "We all have the same goals here."

Sara stood, needed time to collect her thoughts before this dissolved into petty arguments. "I'm not sure we do, Merrill. If you would, please pardon me." She looked at Varric. "Where is the lavatory?"

He pointed to a door behind her, his fingers massaging his temples. "Straight down the hall to the left."

She strode from the room, wondering if she should even return. Sara couldn't fathom why they wouldn't trust her. Everything she did during her time with the Inquisition was done to improve the lives of every person in Thedas, whether they were elven or human or qunari, it didn't matter to her. How they could take her decisions and twist them to seem self-serving was beyond her. It was completely frustrating. But is that what she was to people that didn't know her: an opportunist only looking out for her own interests? It would almost break her heart if it wasn't so ridiculous.

When she reached the lavatory, she retched and immediately began to sob. Her own body couldn't control itself anymore. She had no more control over her destiny and it was nearly crippling. _I'm exhausted_, she thought bitterly. _Perhaps I should go to the manse and sit and become an old, grey spinster. _But no. Doing that was equivalent to simply dying and there was so much she needed to do.

_Stop Solas_, she reminded herself. _Whatever it takes._ _Somehow. After that..._

She could look forward to the future. Everything she did until then would simply be a productive distraction. If the elven leaders of Kirkwall wanted her compliance, she would give it to them as long as the people in the alienage were being fed and leading better lives.

Sara rinsed her mouth and walked back to the parlour with a factitious smile that would have made Vivienne glow with pride. "I hope you'll all excuse my outburst from earlier. I was only wish to help, of course. Please, tell me what you'd like me to do."

Their meeting was much more productive after that, and Reeba, Galen and Devela left their talks with gratified smiles. Merrill, however, lingered and placed a warm hand on Sara's shoulder. "A truly apologize for them, Comtesse. They mean well."

"Thank you," Sara replied softly. "And please, there's no need to use titles with me."

"Like most elves, they mistrust outsiders and will need time to grow accustomed to you. Please be patient with them." Merrill took her leave after a brief farewell to Varric.

"You were surprisingly quiet today, Varric," Sara muttered wryly.

"Look, I was a little afraid of all of you, to be honest. I knew they were all pretty strong personalities but I didn't think that you'd all start trading insults." Varric shook his head with a sigh. "I don't know, Sara. Do you want to go find some demons to kill? That seems way easier than doing this whole... diplomacy... thing..."

"If I had my arm, I'd be on the next ship to Rivain. I'm sure Bull could use some help taking down dragons," she replied, the laugh feeling overwhelmingly pleasing.

Varric looked at the space where her arm once was with keen scrutiny. "I wonder..."

"What is it, Varric?"

"Nothing," he murmured and looked back up at her face. "Are you all right, by the way? When you left during the meeting you looked a little pale. I wasn't sure if it was because of the insults or something else."

"Oh. I'm fine, thank you. I was a bit nauseous, but I think I was just upset," Sara explained, though she was still slightly nauseated and didn't want him to worry.

Over the course of her first month in Kirkwall, Sara quietly cooperated with Merrill and the others in improving the alienage. While the others kept their distance from her, Merrill became a helpful companion. They easily connected over their Dalish roots, though Merrill left her clan over disagreements in ideology. Sara would likely have returned to her own clan with similar issues, but they were killed before she could ever reconnect with them. Merrill was incredibly sympathetic and hoped to take her charitable works to other alienages in the Free Marches once she was content with things in Kirkwall.

When she wasn't working in the alienage, Sara attended community meetings hosted by Varric and assisted as best she could. The nobility of Kirkwall looked at her with either subtle interest or sly suspicion. She expected that, of course, but it was completely different than her experiences in Skyhold, likely because the people in Kirkwall had no reason to trust her and didn't care for her opinion on _their_ city.

The pressure made her wake every morning with a bought of nausea. When she was on the ship to the Free Marches, she assumed that her discomfort was simple seasickness, but it hadn't ended when she arrived and still, over a moth later, bothered her daily. Varric noticed and mentioned how pale she looked whenever they were together, but Sara knew something was amiss when even Merrill told her that she looked ill.

The morning Sara decided to see a doctor, she gazed at herself in the mirror in her boudoir. She _did _look quite pale. Her usually imperceptible freckles were very pronounced and her eyes were sunken, with dark circles under them. She'd had trouble sleeping and despite the nausea ending after a few hours, a headache would soon follow and persist throughout the day. Her body looked gaunt and unhealthy, even though she didn't feel weak.

She visited a very popular doctor in Hightown. While he was kind and knowledgeable, he didn't find anything wrong with her and only recommended rest and a bitter root tea, to curb the nausea. The tea did help at first, though she still felt strange, so a few days later, she went to the elven healer in the alienage.

The infirmary was spacious and comfortable, with dozens of jars of dried herbs like Elfroot, Embrium, Felandaris, and Spindleweed lining the walls and a few bedrolls laid out in the back of the room. The healer was an older woman, her hair white and braided in two long braids that she pinned to the nape of her neck. Her eyes were bright, friendly and surrounded by deep laugh lines and she seemed prone to smiles. When Sara entered, the healer greeted her with a motherly embrace.

"Welcome, child. I am so proud to finally meet you," she crooned, tightening her arms around Sara. "I am Talma."

"I'm glad to meet you, _hahren_," Sara murmured respectfully. "Call me 'Sara'."

"Please sit." Talma led her to a pair of chairs beside her desk covered with books and empty medicine bottles. "What can I do for you?"

"I haven't been feeling well. My stomach's been bothering me and I've had constant headaches," Sara explained.

"Oh, well that's simple enough. A draught for pain will take care of that." Talma wrote out a label and stood to take dried herbs from the jars on the walls. She put a pot of water in the hearth and leaned against the wall with a sigh. "How long have you been feeling this way, child?"

"Well it started when I was on the ship here, so perhaps six weeks at the most." Sara watched Talma sprinkle the herbs in with the water and stir slowly before removing the pot from the fire and covering it with a lid.

"If you don't mind my asking, when was your last cycle?"

The question took Sara by surprise. It hadn't been too long ago... She didn't have one in Kirkwall yet, or on the journey here... In fact, her last cycle had ended a few days before she left Skyhold...

_Oh. No... _Sara felt her blood run cold. "It has been a long time," she finally replied, her tongue barely able to move. _I can't actually be pregnant_, she told herself firmly. How could she? She hadn't been with anyone since Solas and that was over two years ago.

Her mind betrayed her with more recent memories, however, and Sara was thrown back to the dew covered field in the Fade, the last time they were together. When he covered her body with kisses that took the air from her lungs and filled her with pleasure that made their parting excruciating.

_But that wasn't real_, she insisted to herself. She'd said that before, though, the first time she entered the Fade with him. He claimed that the reality or lack of reality in dreams was a matter of debate. Could it be that he was _that _powerful? That what happened between their essences in a dream would create actual consequences in the waking world?

Talma approached her and gently cupped her face, feeling for abnormal warmth. She felt around the sides of her neck and up to her forehead and finally, down to her lower abdomen.

"How long has it been, child?" Talma asked again, her voice distant and distracted.

"Almost two months in the next week or so," Sara replied.

"Is it possible that you are expecting?"

_No_, Sara thought at once, but part of her knew. Part of her had likely always known. She felt her hand shaking and the space at the end of her left arm began to slightly burn. As much as she wanted to deny that what occurred in the Fade was real, she knew it was pointless. Had she never spent that night with Solas, this wouldn't be happening. _But is it possible? _she asked herself.

"Yes," Sara murmured, her voice nearly breaking. "It is possible."

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Vhenadahl: _The tree of the people

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	4. Banal Silaima II

**Welcome to another Solas-y break from the primary narrative.**

**It's pretty quick, but the next chapter's pretty long so yeah!**

**He's so interesting to write so I hope you like how this is going.**

**Please enjoy!**

**~Garnet**

* * *

**Banal Silaima II**

* * *

Mythal's first wedding was a complete farce. An opulent, almost garish, display of wealth and power in which any person of note attended. Mythal was well-liked and reputable in her own right, but still bowed to the will of her father, a powerful mage, that had seen ages and ages of time and was proud to call her his only child. Her intended was Helias of Esheth, a picturesque city on the sea. Helias had governed Esheth for decades and despite his wealth, Solas found him to be an old, haughty bore.

Mythal prepared for her wedding with a fascinating level of excitement. She giddily dragged her handmaidens and Solas around Arlathan for months, looking at flowers, picking out rolls of silk for her gown, rolls of velveteen for her table linens and consulting with wine merchants from across the empire to find the perfect bottle to serve at the wedding. It would have been quite amusing, if Solas wasn't worried that she was feigning excitement to appease her betrothed.

He told her so when she took him to one of her fittings. Her gown was layers of sheer ivory silk that was so light it flowed from the gentlest of breezes. A wide belt of gold was cinched tightly around her waist to give her body definition. She was stunning and seemed to glitter from her eyes to her toes.

"What do you think, Solas? Is it too..."

"Ostentatious?" he supplied but she laughed dismissively.

"I was going to say 'youthful' actually. But I understand. You think it's gaudy."

"Not gaudy," Solas murmured. "Extravagant."

Mythal looked at herself in the mirror and played with her hair. "I don't know what to do," she sighed and at the time, Solas was certain she was having second thoughts about this whole wedding. He wouldn't have blamed her.

"It's not too late to call this off, _arani_," he said softly. Mythal's handmaiden's gasped, their mouths agape in horror. Mythal snapped her head back at him and exhaled deeply. To her handmaidens, she said, "Leave us."

Once they were alone, she sat beside him on the sofa and smiled cynically. "I was referring to my hair, Solas," she muttered. "I don't know what to do with my hair."

"I see." He broke her gaze and looked down at the fibers of her gown. "Excuse my assumption."

She stood again and went back to standing before the mirror. "Your concern is flattering, but unnecessary. I'm ready to marry. Helias is a good man."

"So, you're in love with him?" Solas asked stubbornly.

"No, I'm not. I'm doing my duty. I hope you can understand," she replied.

"I can't." His voice was firmer than he intended. "You don't have to be married off to anyone. Maybe your father won't recognize it, but I know that you deserve independence."

"Look, Solas," Mythal spun to face him. "My father is quite old. He'll be entering _uthenera_ soon and he wanted to be sure that I would be taken care of. I don't love Helias but I will marry him to appease my father before he leaves me. It's the least I can do."

Solas flushed with shame and sighed deeply. "I... understand."

Mythal giggled and startled fiddling with the laces on her gold belt. "Well if things don't work out, at least I can tell you that you were right all along," she said sarcastically. "Come help me out of this. It's dreadfully uncomfortable."

_Dreadfully uncomfortable..._ Sara said something like that as well with a similar sort of cheekiness to Mythal. _When had she said that_, Solas wondered. The memory of Arlathan bled away and he was pacing the rotunda at Skyhold, year and years later.

His hands were dry, covered with varying shades of blue as he finished the finer details of the Warden's coat of arms. Despite how disgusted he was by their actions, Solas had spent more time on this section of the mural any of the others. The nearly imperceptible fractures in the coat of arms he spent hours perfecting were nothing compared to the time he spent figuring out the colors for the hills near Adamant. It was lovely and he wasn't sure how he'd paint anything better. Perhaps the ball at the Winter Palace will inspire him.

Josephine had been preparing for the ball since their invitation months ago. Once she'd researched nearly everyone in attendance, whenever Sara returned from excursions to the Hinterlands or most recently, Adamant, she forced her to sit and recite names, titles, holdings, spouses and paramours of the elite in the Orlesian court. When Josephine was meeting with emissaries, Vivienne would instead lead the lessons.

Occasionally, Sara was joined by Cassandra, who left within minutes, insisting that knowing who all those people were was nonsense, and other times, Dorian sat beside her, if only to regale her with stories about how similar Orlais was to Tevinter, but less treacherous.

It was very amusing, but Solas knew that learning to navigate court could only take so much theoretical instruction. Sara would learn how to conduct herself best once they were actually in the Winter Palace.

All the same, the preparation for this ball kept her occupied and part of him was missing how she'd sit and speak with him as he painted or hum some old Dalish song she'd long forgotten the words to. At first the silence in the rotunda was welcome, as he could deeply focus but her presence fueled his creativity and made the colors on his palate seem more vibrant than when he was alone.

He washed his hands, then each of his brushes meticulously and laid them out on his small desk to dry. As he left the rotunda, the evening sun was shining through the stained glass behind the throne and a herd of women were rushing out of Sara's chambers, their arms full of linen, and into Josephine's office.

Solas slipped into the stairway and climbed up to her chambers quietly. There was no echos of chattering so he assumed she was alone. As he opened the door to her room, he heard her sob sharply and his heart jumped in alarm.

"_Vhenan_," he called, sprinting up the final flight of stairs. When he reached the top, the panic was all but sucked from his body and he _almost _laughed at her. Almost.

Sara was bent over her desk, her fingers gripping behind her to try and find the laces to a corset someone laced her into. Her face was red, brows furrowed and teeth latched onto her bottom lip in concentration. She swore whenever she dropped a string and groaned in displeasure.

"Sara," he said, as not to startle her.

She looked up at him, her hair falling into her eyes and she gasped in relief, beaming. "Solas. Please. Help."

He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing and found the laces to her corset. With a gentle pull, it was loose but not completely undone and she inhaled gratefully. "Thank you," she moaned, her voice breathy and tired.

She stepped away from him to sit on the end of her bed, stretching her arms over her head. She would never fathom it, but Solas thought she looked especially lovely that evening. The corset was intricately designed, with powder blue lace trimming the bodice and boning. She was also dressed in a matching tea-length petticoat and soft silk dancing slippers. Seeing her dainty and soft was such a refreshing, almost jarring, change from her usual, war-weary wardrobe.

"I've been Josie's doll for the past five hours," Sara complained humorously. "She can't decide is I should look 'humble and subdued' or 'bold and fearless' for this ball."

Solas sat beside her with a soft laugh. "I'm sure that whichever gown was chosen would not ultimately matter. You'd be the focus of the guests' intrigue if you wore your hunting greens."

"I get the feeling that you and Josie share a similar excitement for this ball," Sara mumbled accusingly.

"Once we've apprehended whatever assailant is coming for the Empress, I'm sure you'll enjoy some of the delights of the ball as well," he replied.

"Maybe." She began to pull at the laces behind her once more. "I've never been the type of girl to enjoy skirts or rouge or _corsets_, Solas."

"This is not a common garment among the Dalish, I see," he stated with a small chuckle.

"No," she replied. "How could anyone do anything in this... this... _cage_?"

"Josephine, Vivienne and Leliana seem to wear it comfortably," he argued gently.

"Well, they're all better women than I am." Sara rolled her shoulders. "What's the point of this thing anyway? Eventual suffocation?"

"It's for support, mostly," Solas explained gently removing her stumbling fingers from the laces to loosen them himself. After a moment, the corset was as loose as he could get it without removing it completely so he dropped the laces and wove his arms around her waist. "Support and posture."

"Posture?"

He kissed just behind her ear and she shuddered. "Yes." He took a step away from her and softly traced the shape of her spine. "When the laces are tightened correctly, your back straightens. And your shoulders," he paused to gently press his lips to her shoulder blades, "are pulled back. It's the simplest way to radiate confidence and poise during the ball, _vhenan_. At anytime, you'll look more assured than you feel, which could mean the difference between success and failure."

"Josie should have let you lace me into it," she teased. "You make an excellent argument for something so dreadfully uncomfortable."

"Josephine would be scandalized." He brought his lips to her neck and she laughed, her giggle fading into a deep moan. His fingers returned to the laces. "I trust your fitting is finished for the evening."

"I- I don't know." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I think someone was coming up to unlace me."

"I'll inform Josephine that it's unnecessary," he mumbled into her ear.

And afterward the night was long and sweet but Solas woke to the present as alone as he was longing. But he couldn't miss her.

Not yet.

There was still so much to accomplish.

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Uthenera:_ Long sleep. Evoked by magic.

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	5. Vulana

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**~Garnet**

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**Vulana**

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By the time Cassandra arrived in Kirkwall, Sara's pregnancy was well underway and visible under her clothes. The first few months of her pregnancy, Varric doted over her worriedly. He visited her manse almost daily and they spent their mornings strolling around Kirkwall, usually to the docks and back to her manse before he returned home. Sara had weekly appointments Talma to make sure the child was safe and healthy.

It was all very surreal at first. For several weeks, Sara moved about her home phantom-like. Days seemed to blend into each other until one morning, after her bath she saw a reflection of her growing abdomen in the mirror. The realization of what was going to happen hit her all at once and she was as anxious as she was overjoyed.

She made two firm decisions that morning. The first was obvious: her child was her world and everything she did was to benefit them. Every action would be driven toward providing them a future worth looking forward to. Second: no one was to know that Solas was the father. The child would be safe from him if he was trapped in his delusions and not the man she came to love any longer. The secret would also protect them from any enemies he amounted. Maybe, someday, when the child was older and Solas was stopped, she would confide in them, but for now the secret needed to be kept.

She wrote letters to nearly everyone she knew, excluding Thom, because she didn't want to distract him and Sera and Iron Bull, because she didn't know how to reach them. A few weeks after sending the letters, she received a lovely basket of fine Antivan silk, pillows and a stuffed fennec from Josephine, along with a letter expressing her excitement and a promise to visit Kirkwall once the child was born.

Everyone else sent kind letters of support and well-wishes. Dorian's letter was pages and pages long and filled with excitement and disbelief. One of the last pages read:

_Well, I just can't believe it, Sara. I feel like you're winding me up. But why would you do that? You never were really all that funny. Does that come off as rude? My apologies, I'm just completely baffled. I mean, look at this, Sara; I've been writing for seven full pages and I'm not sure when I'm going to stop. Not anytime soon, certainly. I wonder if you'll name them after me? You should._

Cassandra, however, needed nearly three letters to convince her that the announcement wasn't a prank from Varric. Once she was certain, she wrote that she was coming to Kirkwall at once to see her. Leliana's response was one of concern as well and she requested that Sara only ask if she needed anything.

The afternoon Cassandra arrived, she had a trunk brought to Sara's manse, even though she was not present. According to her driver, Cassandra went to see Varric first. Something about that decision gave Sara pause, so she grabbed a shawl and made the short walk to Varric's.

Once inside, one of Varric's servants led her to his solar, where the sound of arguing became louder and clearer.

"She's a grown woman, Seeker! I don't know how you blame me for this!"

"You were supposed to protect her!" Cassandra shouted. "You brought her here!"

"This isn't a _bad _thing. Unexpected, sure, but not bad," Varric replied.

Sara let herself into the solar and they quieted themselves. The look in Cassandra's eyes was relieved and suddenly warm when she approached Sara for an embrace. "It's good to see you," she murmured.

"You as well," Sara replied, smiling genially. "You've been in Kirkwall less than a day and you're already fighting with Varric?"

Cassandra's smile fell and she scowled in annoyance. "I was... concerned for your well-being, Sara. Varric has been the only person around you for months and I wanted to make sure that he also took your welfare seriously."

"It's isn't Varric's responsibility to supervise me, Cassandra," Sara countered. "He's done more than enough for me and what's happened has nothing to do with him."

"Thank you, Sara," Varric groaned.

"If everything is so _wonderful_," Cassandra said, completely vexed, "then why are you being so secretive about everything. We don't even know about the father."

"Because I'm very embarrassed, Cassandra," Sara snapped, her throat tight, almost forcing away the lie. "I can't tell you who he is." She took a heavy breath. "We stopped at several taverns on our way to Kirkwall. I was unhappy and lonely; I sought comfort. Do you understand my meaning?"

"I-" Cassandra could not meet her gaze. "Yes. I understand, Sara."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Sara murmured and she meant it more than Cassandra could ever know. Cassandra had an unwavering respect for Sara that was built over years of comradery. To see it collapse completely, as Cassandra let out a deep sigh and shrug of acceptance, was agonizing.

"Varric told me that you haven't hired household guards yet," Cassandra muttered stoically. "Before I left Val Royeaux to come here, I had a conversation with Ser Barris. He is leading a small group of former Templars and are in need of purpose. I asked them to come here to protect you and your new family."

Sara felt her throat swell with tears. As disappointed as Cassandra clearly was, she still cared for her and would support her in her own way.

"Cassandra-"

"It's nothing, Sara." Cassandra managed a smile. "Children are a blessing and unexpected blessings are often the ones we need most."

"Well said," Varric murmured with a firm nod. "If you can run an organization like the Inquisition, motherhood should be easy."

Sara chuckled and swallowed the lump in her throat. "You give me far too much credit, Varric."

She and Cassandra lingered at Varric's keep for another hour or so before they walked back to the manse and Sera let Cassandra get comfortable in her guest room. They shared a quiet dinner and after a while, whatever tension that was initially between them had faded.

As Cassandra anticipated, Ser Barris and a group of a dozen other former Templars arrived in Kirkwall to serve as household guards. Sara made it clear that they were free to lead lives outside of service to her. Many of them stared at her in confusion when she mentioned that, as they were unused to living for their own desires but Sara was certain that given time all of them would eventually become acclimated to civilian life.

Cassandra stayed in Kirkwall for almost two months before she received summons to return to Val Royeaux.

"Leliana has little support from the Chantry," she explained as Sara helped her pack. "They find her to be radicalized and overbearing."

"They can't be surprised can they?" Sara passed Cassandra a pair of riding gloves. "Leliana has always been outspoken and her first act as Divine was opening the Chantry to non-humans."

Cassandra chuckled. "I don't know what they expect from her."

Sara took a break from packing and rested her hand on her abdomen with a sigh. At six months along, pregnancy was becoming exhausting. Her body was heavy and often sore, though the child within her kicked and moved energetically. Talma constantly fawned over how healthy the child was and told Sara that birthing was easier with a lively baby.

"Will you be alright?" Cassandra asked suddenly.

"Yes." Sara took her hand and smiled. "Thanks to you, I'm safe here. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's very easy to say."

As they shared a laugh, Sara's butler entered to announce that Varric was visiting and they left the bedroom to join him in the drawing room.

When they arrived, Varric wasn't alone and it took a moment before Sara could put a name with a face.

"Sara, Seeker, you remember Bianca, right?"

Bianca stood beside Varric and waved, almost shyly.

"Hello, again, Inquisitor."

"Hi, Bianca. What do I owe the pleasure?" Sara asked, finding a seat.

"I'm here on a favor from the _Viscount_," she said mockingly with a sideways glance to Varric.

"Why do you have to say it like that?" Varric grumbled. "I'm the same dwarf I always was."

"Uh huh," Bianca murmured dubiously. "In any case, let me see your arm."

Before Sara could question her request, Bianca raised both her arms and measured both of them with a knotted string.

"What is this about, Varric?" Cassandra asked.

"The _Viscount_ is somehow convinced that I can build a mechanized arm for your Comtesse," Bianca explained.

"Could you?" Sara asked hopefully.

"I can build anything, alright. But figuring out how to get it to move like an actual limb is giving me a migraine," Bianca replied.

"I've contacted Dagna, though," Varric interjected, "and she may have the solution to that problem."

"Brilliant idea, Varric," Cassandra complimented with a smile that clearly made Varric uncomfortable.

"Thank you, Varric," Sara said, beaming. If the arm was successful, her life would change exponentially.

"It's nothing, really," he replied.

"Nothing for you maybe," Bianca quipped. "Alright, Comtesse, give me a couple weeks. I'll have this arm finished before your baby comes."

Bianca was prompt, as in only five weeks she returned to the manse with Varric and Dagna in tow.

Dagna and Bianca's bickering was mildly amusing and ultimately they agreed to disagree. Danga wouldn't question Bianca about the mechanics of the arm and Bianca would defer to Dagna when it came to the runes and magical properties involved.

"All I asked is that you put space for the rune somewhere in the arm," Dagna stated, clearly exasperated. "That's not _that_ hard, is it?"

"It isn't, thank you," Bianca snipped. "But I wish you would've told me sooner though. It almost ruined the design."

"Well, let's see it," Sara interrupted, hoping that they would stop arguing.

Bianca opened her velvet lined case proudly. Inside was a forearm made of polished mahogany. The arm was a solid duplication of her own arm, slightly muscular with long fingers. Intricate carvings if vines and leaves were made long the wrist and up the length of the arm. It was beautiful in a strange sculptural kind of way.

"I... don't know what to say," Sara murmured. "It's lovely."

"My pleasure," Bianca said with a wide grin.

She took to fitting it on the end of Sara's arm and fastening a garter along her upper arm.

"I made it out of wood so it would be light," Bianca explained. "I considered metal for strength but it would've weighed a ton. But this wood won't splint or anything and I can make improvements if it needs it."

"What is the rune for, Dagna?" Sara asked.

"Well, it's really sort of brilliant if I do say so myself. The magical properties within it thrive on thought and imagination. Put simply, if you think strongly enough that you can move this arm, hand and fingers, the rune will make it so," Dagna explained proudly.

"That's incredible," Sara told her, nearly giddy. Once the arm was fastened and secure, Dagna placed the rune in a small compartment near the end of the arm. Sara stared at her arm intently, her mind focused on wiggling the fingers or making a fist, but little happened.

"You'll get the hang of it soon. It'll be like writing or learning to walk. You'll need to practice before it becomes second nature," Dagna said.

"Well, if that's all," Bianca murmured. "I'll take my leave. I'm glad I could help."

"You can't understand what this means to me," Sara said sincerely. "I'm forever in your debt."

"You kept Varric alive during all that Corypheus bullshit. We're even." With that, Bianca strolled from the manse with only a little wave farewell.

"I should be leaving too," Dagna said cheerfully. "Oh, before I forget; Sera told me to tell you congratulations and that she'll be by to visit once your baby is born."

Sara giggled softly. "Tell her I'm looking forward to it."

When she and Varric were alone, her pulled on a small box, wrapping in yellow paper with a decorative silver bow. "Consider this a gift for you and the baby," he said and inside were several pairs of gloves; one pair of silk evening gloves, a thick pair of leather riding gloves and two pairs of soft, elbow length nugskin gloves. "The nugskin is very soft and fleshy," he explained. "I figured it would be most comfortable to wear when you're carrying around the baby. Just don't tell Leliana."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Varric," Sara said and embraced him tightly. She knew she'd never be able to repay him for all he'd done for her over the course of the year, but she also knew that Varric was the type of friend to never think of asking for repayment and she was grateful to have him in her life.

The final months of pregnancy were bland and uneventful. Sara spent hours learning how to use her new arm and as Dagna said, it was rather difficult. It took her a full month to bend her arm, another few weeks to make a fist and even more to wiggle her fingers. Eventually, she began carrying baskets of fruit around her manse as if it were a baby so she could at least manage that.

She went into labor a bit unexpectedly. It was after midnight when she was pulled from sleep with incredible pain. She didn't know that stomach pains could be so excruciating.

She was a hunter; she broken her collarbone and several ribs as a girl. During her time in the Inquisition, she'd been stabbed and sliced, burned and pelted with freezing gusts of ice and this, impending birth, was already putting all those other injuries to shame.

At hearing her scream, her butler, evening chambermaid and Ser Barris burst into her chambers in alarm and she didn't need to say much before they realized what was happening and Ser Barris left to go fetch Talma from the alienage. The butler left to gather towels while the chambermaid said beside Sara and stroked her hair while murmuring sympathetic noises.

After nearly an hour, Talma arrived with a small basin and jars of herbs. Despite being woken abruptly, she looked calm but thrilled, her face bright with an eager smile. She first prepared herself across the room by the hearth, heating water in a pot and mixing together a strong draught for pain before reheating water for the basin.

She shooed the butler and Ser Barris from the room but allowed the chambermaid to stay to lend an additional hand if she needed it. Throughout this time, Sara was dizzy with pain, but she vaguely felt Talma moving her body into a better position and looking gently between her legs.

"You're further along than I thought, child," Talma said with a little laugh and pat her on the knee. "It won't be long. He should be here by sunrise."

Sara nodded, her mind numb with pain. Every few minutes, Talma let her have a bitter swallow of the draught for pain and it always helped at first but stopped working after a few minutes. As Talma predicted, the sun was in the middle of rising when she was _finally _allowed to begin pushing and that was the worst pain yet. She screamed deafeningly to which Talma only laughed.

"That's it, child, let it out. I know. I know. It'll be alright." The chambermaid caught Sara behind the shoulders and took her hand as she pushed and screamed again.

"Mythal and Sylaise are watching over you," Talma said encouragingly. "One more. Come on, one more."

The next push made Sara see white behind her eyes, but then there was a sudden, brief, relief and gasps of delight, sing-song crooning and finally, loud, piercing cries.

"Well done," Talma said, suddenly across the room at the basin. "Well done. You have a beautiful little girl."

Sara was ecstatic, but pain wracked her and she yelped once more. The sound made Talma look up in surprise and she handed the baby to the chambermaid before examining Sara quickly.

"Oh, dear."

"What is it?" Sara demanded.

"There's another."

Part of Sara wanted to laugh at the lunacy of the situation but before she could, she felt the child pressing between her legs and immediately pushed with a sharp intake of breath. It only took that one push before the other child was free and the pain subsided all at once as exhaustion swept over her.

Talma caught the second child and cleaned them in the basin as well before walking over to the bedside where Sara struggled to sit comfortably.

"Alright, here is your firstborn, a girl." She placed her in Sara's arms gently. "And her twin, your little boy."

What may have been overwhelming to some, only made Sara glow with pride. They were both plump and pink and healthy, expressive and incredibly beautiful. Their hair was nearly white and thin, which led Sara to believe that they would favor her in appearance. She nursed the children herself and the boy took to her first and keenly. After he was fed, Sara nursed the girl and as she ate, her eyes peaked open and looked curiously at Sara. Her eyes were a soft, familiar blue.

"Oh," Sara gasped with tears in her throat. "Look at you," she whispered and stroked her head gently.

"They are lovely," Talma murmured, clearing away supplies in the room and watching Sara warmly. "What will you call them?"

"Amelie." Sara looked at her daughter, tasted the name on her lips and nodded, then looked at her son and thought for a moment, before finding something suitable. "Aiden."

She could have wept for Solas then. He would never have the honor of knowing them and never know to joy of holding them close and being so certain of love. He would never tie ribbons in his daughter's hair or hold his son's hand as he learned to walk.

She pitied him deeply.

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Vulana_: To give life

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

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	6. Banal Silaima III

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**~Garnet**

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**Banal Silaima III**

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_I've gone too far._

Solas thought that often since joining the Inquisition. Despite wanting to undo his miscalculation and set things right in the world again, he initially decided to keep a certain, polite distance from the people in this Inquisition.

His resolve unraveled over several precious moments. Discussing the nature of consciousness and life while wandering the Storm Coast with Cole reminded him of the debates he would have as a young man at school or with friends at pretentious parlour events Mythal often threw as a housewife where all the guests would wax philosophically and debate the nature of the world. Cole would have fit there perfectly, just the right tone of questioning without needing to be correct.

But there were also the friends he never expected to make... Blackwall, for instance. He offered to teach him how to play a card game that had only devolved over time. Solas fondly remembered nights turning into mornings at men's clubs in Arlathan, where he'd gamble, drink to excess and laugh until tears fell with old and new friends. He could see Blackwall there, a gruff voice of reason in one moment and in the next moment, as reckless as the rest of them.

Every moment with the Inquisition felt like exploring a massive, intricate labyrinth. He navigated the labyrinth with a tight hold on twine weaved with the memories of Arlathan, Mythal and the Evanuris. The twine was his ultimate goals and purpose. He could explore this maze all he wanted as long as he had something to tie him back to reason.

But with every new moment endured, his journey got more and more complex and by the time he reached the center of the maze, where Sara was, he'd run out of twine to navigate and excuses to deny his feelings. And hers.

He fell in love with her, in all the ways that falling is ungraceful and embarrassing in the way that one tried to catch themselves mid-fall, hoping that perhaps the fall won't be so painful. But it was. It was beautifully painful. Her touch would leave a smoldering burn across his skin, sending his blood ablaze. Whenever she left Skyhold to unknowable danger without him, his heart would twist and flip with concern until she returned.

She compelled him to love her, with her inquisitive, curious and optimistic nature and the way she'd sit and beg for stories about his life and experiences. As she listened, her eyes would lock with his but slowly travel down to his lips. He would noticed her staring and she would look back up at him quickly, a blush highlighting her cheeks. Her sincerity was captivating; it took _effort_ for her to be dishonest or spiteful which made her standout in a world of cynics who'd lost their capacity to see things not only for what they were, but also for what hid underneath.

For so long he wasn't certain; perhaps all he felt was a passing fondness at best or shameless lust at worst and thus, simple to ignore and push from his thoughts.

But feelings were never as simple as they seemed and finally, he had to confront them and her.

Solas would never forget that evening. Sara had only returned from rescuing Inquisition scouts from a bog in Ferelden that very morning. He watched her and her party sludge into Skyhold and despite being covered in dry mud and moss, they were all alight with pride at the success of their journey. Sara immediately sought her chambers and likely soaked for hours before seeking her bed. By the time she came to see him in the rotunda, she was rested and radiant and even though he played over what he'd say to her countless times, seeing her made him flustered.

"Inquisitor, I was... Do you have a moment?" he stammered, his thoughts leaving him as she smiled. Whatever he rehearsed was pointless, he realized as they climbed the stairs to her chambers. When they reached her balcony, Solas noticed the anchor on her hand glowing softly and was struck with a sudden. unwanted thought. Was he, perhaps, only drawn to his own magic and not _her_?

So, he asked her if she felt different, if the anchor adjusted her personality. "If it had," she replied with an inquiring smile, "do you really think I'd have noticed."

And there she was, shining through his doubt with a self-awareness that was hard to find now. "No," he said, nearly laughing at his own unease. "That's an excellent point."

"Why do you ask?" Sara cocked her head slightly and he told her how much he admired her and the words came out surprisingly chaste but genuine. He admired her mind and spirit and the way she wandered the world with grace and thoughtfulness. She didn't just meander around without care for what was underfoot and sought to preserve the past while also setting the stage for a better future. And he loved her for that, and for much more he'd discover.

"So, what does this mean, Solas?" she asked when he finished praising her and he could only reply with the truth, despite keeping it to himself for months.

"It means I have not forgotten the kiss."

The way her eyes narrowed, filled with satisfaction and desire, made his stomach flip in anticipation. Sara smiled, a blush coating her cheeks. "Good," she murmured and took small tentative steps to fill the space between them.

He nearly surrendered to the moment before he remembered how wrong this was of him. He had aspirations beyond the Inquisition and she didn't deserve to be involved in the path he would walk. If there was to be suffering, he would endure it alone and spare her the pain.

As he turned to leave, it was too hesitant for even him to believe and she gently caught his arm, asking him to stay in a disarmingly soft voice.

"It would be kinder in the long run," he told her.

But losing her would mean existing as nothing but a machine made to undo mistakes. Losing her would destroy any part of him that existed as just a man and in that moment all he wanted was to be hers.

_Don't think_, he realized. _Or think only of her. Not the past. Not the future. Just Sara._

So, he let go and seemed to melt in her arms and dissolve against her lips. The sound of her moan through her lips made him pull her tighter against him. She was so warm and soft, he could hardly remember feeling so enveloped in adoration. Nothing he'd ever experienced prepared him for how she made him feel.

_I've gone too far_, part of him thought suddenly, but the rest of him was unwillingly pulling away from her and before he could think to stop himself, the words flew from his lips.

_"Ar lath ma, vhenan," _he said, held his tongue before he could say more and walked from her chamber resolutely. He would never forgive himself for entering into this relationship with her and he didn't doubt that she wouldn't forgive him either when it was all over. But in the meanwhile, perhaps they could help each other escape reality, if only for a few moments.

He had reached her staircase when he heard her say, "You don't have to run from this, Solas."

_But I do,_ he thought with a sigh. Before he knew it, Sara was behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek nuzzled against his back tenderly. He turned in her arms and kissed her forehead gently. "I have never felt like this, _vhenan_," he explained only for her to smile and caress his face.

"Neither have I," she confessed and sought his lips again. Slowly, he leaned into the kiss and for the first time really surrendered to the moment. Gently, his tongue glided across her lower lip and she moved her head to the side to deepen the kiss. She moaned deeply and wove her arms around his neck and they moved away from the stairs and toward her bed in quick, certain steps.

Sara was far more eager than Solas would've guessed. She pressed him to sit and climbed into his lap, never breaking the kiss and all too soon he was on his back and she was above him. With a giggle, she ran kisses down his jaw and to his neck and while it was all quite enjoyable, her yearning was too fast. He knew where this was going and wanted her to savor this.

"Sara," he murmured with a failed attempt to sit up. "We must slow down."

She pulled away and looked down at him with a cheeky pout. "Must we?"

"Yes," Solas chuckled. He held her by the hips and pulled himself into a sitting position, his fingers loosening the button at the top of her tunic.

With a few pulls, he kissed her exposed neck and top of her collarbone. Her grip tightened on his shoulder as he continued unfastening the buttons. The tops of her breasts peaked out from under the thin band she wore. He returned to her lips and pecked kisses along her cheek and to her ear where he whispered, "We have all night."

Undressing her was nearly crippling. Every bit of her pale skin was beautiful, from her shoulders, speckled with light freckles, to her legs, strong and toned from years of hunting and fighting. Everywhere new skin presented itself, he laid hungry, enraptured kisses.

He found himself nestled between her legs, tasting the soft skin in her upper thigh. He looked up at her face; her eyes were shut tightly and she took short breaths through her mouth. The sun had nearly set, putting her body in a deep orange glow. Her eyes slowly peeked open and she met his gaze and smiled coyly. He fixed his eyes on her as he kissed her tenderly between her legs. She sucked in a harsh breath and he watched her face contort when he ran his tongue across her folds. She was almost addictive in the sense that Solas was near certain he could stay between her legs till morning, but there was so much he needed to feel.

Beneath him, Sara writhed and trembled with pleasure, her lip caught in her teeth to mute her moans and sudden gasps. Her fingers curled in the blankets under them as she sang out a lingering groan of approval, shaking slightly, and inhaled as if she'd been held under water for too long.

Solas rose to his knees and undressed as she caught her breath. Sara's sudden wildness caught him by surprise as she fervidly pulled off the rest of his clothes and flung them across the room. She straddled his waist and gave him a searing kiss before taking him in her hand and gently stroking him with the wickedest grin on her face. She had warm, skilled hands that made him see white behind his eyes.

Too soon, her hands were removed and replaced with sudden tight heat. Solas' eyes shot open with a strained groan as Sara threw her head back ardently. She rode him quickly, roughly, with a need he completely understood. But it was too good and would end far too quickly.

He gripped her hips and slowed her. Sara's groan of complaint faded into a giggle as he switched their positions and pinned her arms above her head. "_Felas'el, vhenan_," he whispered hoarsely and entered her with an unhurried, deep thrust. Releasing her wrists, Solas tangled one hand in her hair while the other held her waist for support. She grasped his shoulders tightly and gave him a sloppy, delirious kiss before breaking it to nearly sob in bliss.

"Solas," she moaned, breathless and overwhelmed. He loved that he could make her say his name in varying cadences. One "Solas" was a short, quick breath that said without saying "Please, faster". Another "Solas" was a high, long whine. A beg for more, much _much _more. He especially loved the "Solas" that was a growl, demanding that he continue, faster, harder, deeper. But nothing surmounted the scream when it was all too much; her fingers dug into his back deeply and if she had longer nails, she would have left claw marks across his skin.

Seeing and hearing her erupt with pleasure was enough to send him spiraling soon after her. As he reached his peak, he found her lips once more, grunting into her mouth and nearly collapsing on her, exhausted, but his hand steadied him at the last moment. He finally broke their kiss to take his first full breath in what felt like hours.

"Solas," she whispered contently and he realized that he loved how she said his name right then the most. So comfortable and enamored, it struck him deeply.

"_Ma'ea inalanehn," _he murmured, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Sara laughed gently. "Sweet talker."

Much later, as the sun began to rise, Solas held her as they rested from another amorous tryst and traced the outline of her _vallaslin _curiously. "Does your clan's _hahren_ choose your _vallaslin_ for you?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No," Sara replied with a yawn. "We're allowed to pick for ourselves."

"Why Mythal?"

Solas felt her stiffen a bit before she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. "My great-grandfather was the oldest person in our clan before he passed away. He was also the only person in our clan to wear Mythal's _vallaslin_. Everyone in my family found him to be rather odd and bothersome."

She smiled sadly, her eyes narrowing with affection. "He always told me stories whenever I would ask. I thought he was wonderful and we were very close when I was a girl. When it was time for me to choose my _vallaslin_, I asked for his advice so he told me a story."

"When he was a boy, he was very sickly and the healers in our clan were sure that he wouldn't live into adulthood. So, when he was old enough to pick his _vallaslin_ he took it very seriously. He prayed to the gods for guidance every night for weeks. The night before the ceremony, he dreamt so deeply he went into the Fade. When he was there, he saw a vision of Mythal."

Sara turned to face him, her expression stern and thoughtful. "She was sitting in the middle of a beautiful garden, he claimed, and simply sat there, braiding together a laurel of rosemary flowers. My _babala _just watched her and waited for her to finish making the laurel. When she was finished, she asked him, 'You would like my blessing, yes?'. And he said of course and asked for her protection. He begged her for more years to live and marry and have children. Mythal listened and smiled before placing the laurel on his head and telling him that he would live to see his children's children and even more."

"When he woke from the dream, beside his pillow was a rosemary laurel." Sara took a breath and shuddered. "You have to understand, rosemary doesn't grow in the Free Marches, Solas. There was no possible way anyone could have given him the laurel as he was sleeping."

"Regardless, at the ceremony he chose to receive Mythal's _vallaslin _and as I said, he grew to be the oldest person in my clan. I chose Mythal after he told me that story. At first I didn't believe him. I laughed at him. And when I did, he hobbled over to the locked chest he kept in our _aravel _and took out the rosemary laurel. None of the leaves or flowers had withered. Not one of them." Tears welled in her eyes.

"He died soon after that. And when he died, he left the laurel to me. But when he died, the flowers and leaves withered away into dust. But I knew that Mythal's blessings were true and that she would watch over me like she did him." Sara blinked away tears and looked away from Solas shyly. "I know it must sound ridiculous."

"No." Solas laid his hand on her back soothingly. "It doesn't." In fact, her story was too accurate to be ignored. Long ago, when Mythal had a villa in Arlathan, she kept a manicured, expansive garden filled with flowers, fruit trees and a small pond. He remembered strolling with her on spring afternoons and occasionally, she'd bend down to pluck a small branch of purple flowers from the garden and hold it under her nose. She claimed the scent was calming. The flower was now known as rosemary.

"You were wise to listen to him," Solas murmured. "Few people are willing to hear those they think are stuck in the past."

"I know," Sara said with a giggle. "Why do you think I'm always listening to you?"

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Ar lath ma_: I love you

_Felas'el_: Slower

_Ma'ea_ _inalanehn_: You are beautiful.

_Vallaslin_: Facial markings that honor elven gods.

_Babala_: Grandfather

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

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**Thanks for reading! Please Review!**


	7. Empress

**Hey, new chapter!**

**Back to the present narrative, so I hope you're ready for things to get... well, let me just let you see for yourself.**

**Happy Reading!**

**~Garnet**

* * *

**Empress**

* * *

The twins grew and days passed faster than Sara would have expected. Granted, as she got accustomed to motherhood, life was consistently dynamic. She couldn't remember the last time she had a full night's sleep and yet, she wasn't tired or over taxed yet. By the time they were half a year old, Sara had built a comfortable routine of feeding them, playing with them and watching them sleep for days. It was also around that time, however, the Sara began receiving visitors.

Josephine, as she mentioned in her letter, visited in the middle of the summer, when the twins were only half a year old. She arrived in Kirkwall with a carriage full of luggage and gifts. Josephine looked marvelously different, her wavy black hair cut shoulder length with a long braid weaved across her hairline. She was dressed with expected elegance in a sensible travel gown of deep violet and a matching damask coat.

Sara met her in the harbor with Aiden tied in a secure cloth across her chest and Amelie asleep in a wheeled bassinet. Josephine beamed as soon as she saw them and practically sprinted across the docks to pull Sara in an embrace and coo over the babies with tears in her eyes.

"They're absolutely adorable," she gushed as they rode back to the manse. "You should be very proud, Sara."

"You're too kind," Sara replied taking her hand. "Tell me, how is your family? How have things been in Antiva?"

"Exciting. Coming home after being with the Inquisition has opened many doors for myself and my family throughout Thedas. My sister Yvette ran off with her pirate again, but at least this time they returned to receive my father's blessing."

Sara chuckled softly. "Are they married now?"

"Yes. They wed a few weeks ago. The match was seen as completely scandalous in our circle, but Yvette was ecstatic and that's all that really matters." Josephine shrugged with a smile. "Now that she's married, my mother keeps dangling suitors in front of me. I _needed _to get out of Antiva just to dodge another marriage proposal from the sovereign prince."

Sara cringed as the carriage came to a stop in the courtyard of the manse. "He can't be _that _awful, can he?"

"He's very sweet and well-meaning, but he's _sixty-seven, _Sara. I'm not yet thirty. I think a ten year age gap is more appropriate, don't you?"

Sara laughed as she climbed out of the carriage. "Yes. Oh, that's much too old, Josie."

"I think he was on his second wife when I was in the womb," Josephine giggled, Amelie snuggled in her arms. Sara took the twins and put them down for a nap while Josephine unpacked and relaxed in her guestroom. They found each other again later in the evening for dinner, where they laughed and gossiped over wine and a meal of poached fish, steamed vegetables, a spread of different cheeses and a dessert of strawberries and sweetened cream.

"I heard a rumor about you, Josie," Sara murmured slyly. "Leliana told me that a very particular group of Wardens is under your family's patronage."

Josephine blushed. "That's just coincidental. I haven't seen Thom since the Exalted Council. Though I did receive a letter from him a few months ago. It was nothing, really. Just a friendly update."

"So." Sara tapped her fingers on her glass thoughtfully. "The dance between you two continues."

"You and Leliana make it seem so much more whimsical than it actually is," Josephine laughed, taking a sip of wine.

"Well, it makes a lovely story, doesn't it?" Sara supplied playfully.

"It does," Josephine conceded. "Speaking of Leliana, did she ever tell you about my report on the elves in Antiva?"

Sara glanced at her in confusion. While she and Leliana kept frequent correspondence, that had yet to be mentioned. "No. Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly." Josephine set down her glass and took a moment to search for words. "There was massive exodus of elves from the alienage in Antiva City. I don't think any of them are there, actually. According to some sources, they joined up with some of the Dalish in Antiva and haven't been heard from since."

"Really?" Sara cupped her face in her hand. "That's curious."

"Do you think Solas is gathering them?" Josephine asked.

"Solas was always very detached from modern elves, so putting together an elven army doesn't sound like him to me. But at the same time, I don't know the person he is now," Sara murmured. "If he is involved, it's likely unwillingly, with the elves paying homage to him as a living god and seeking him out as a kind of pilgrimage."

"Well that's... Unsettling," Josephine said glumly. They spoke of less possibly dire things before departing for bed that evening. Josephine visited for about two weeks before leaving to return to Antiva. She parted from Kirkwall in the harbor with a tight embrace and kiss farewell.

Several times after she left, Sara received a report from Leliana or Cassandra or Dorian about city elves leaving alienages to connect with their Dalish counterparts nearby. Once they were gone from the city, it was eerily quiet about their whereabouts. Kirkwall's alienage didn't change much, though Sara was weary about some of the young adults that sought to leave to make names for themselves. She hoped that they weren't seeking out whatever large group that was forming across Thedas.

The twins had just turned a year old when Sara received an unexpected visit from Dorian. She was in the middle of nursing in the early morning when before her butler could announce him, he burst into her nursery with only a glamour he could exude.

Sara's mouth dropped open in shock and she could feel her her chest swelling with emotion. He caught her eye with a brazen smile that wavered when he noticed Amelie in her arms. His eyes glazed over suddenly and he shyly stood in the threshold before saying, "I had something of a speech planned out, you know. I was going to chastise you for not writing more frequently or using the sending crystal if you were _really _desperate to hear my voice. I was going to rant and rave about making the immensely long journey here but I can't seem to do it."

"Because you love me?" Sara teased sweetly and his laugh was warm and familiar.

"Well, I think that goes without saying," he mumbled and sat beside her on the sofa and they hugged for longer than Sara would have expected. But she missed him dearly and before she knew it, tears were streaming down her cheeks. As they pulled apart, Sara wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and Dorian tsked. "Oh, come now, none of that." He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"I'm sorry," she wept. "I just..."

"I know," he said squeezing her shoulder. "Trust me, the only reason I'm not blubbering is because only one of us needs to be this emotional at any time."

Sara giggled and sniffled before drying her tears and walking to one of the cribs to lay Amelie down. Dorian wandered the nursery as she soothed her and watched Aiden sleep with an affectionate glint in his eyes. "I never really cared for babies."

"Too messy?" Sara asked with a chuckle.

"Yes, dreadfully. And all that _noise_." Sara locked arms with him and led him to the drawing room where they got more comfortable by the hearth with glasses of light mead and fruit for them to share.

"What made you come all the way to Kirkwall?" Sara asked nibbling at a grape.

"I had business in Starkhaven and figured that Kirkwall was only a few days away. So, I left my party while they were sleeping and rode here alone. Now, don't look at me like that, _Mother_. I was perfectly safe." Dorian cut a piece of a peach and chewed it carelessly.

"You shouldn't travel alone, Dorian. When you go back to Minrathous, I want you to take some of my guards with you," Sara insisted, only for Dorian to roll his eyes and say, "Yes, _Mother_."

"How's Bull?"

Dorian sighed fondly. "He took a very secretive job in Nevarra when I told him that I was going to Starkhaven. My bet is that this job has something to do with dragons."

Sara chuckled and took a sip of mead. "You're probably right."

"What about you?" he asked inquiringly. "Are you... alone?"

"No. I have two children, a household staff and Varric to keep me company. Not to mention the people I've met while in Kirkwall," Sara replied dismissively.

"I suppose I'll have to be direct with you- What's the story behind your two little ones? Lonely nights in Kirkwall with someone unworthy of you?" He spoke with a touch of humor that fell slightly when she barely smiled.

"Yes. Is it that obvious?" She chuckled.

"It's the only story that seems plausible since this mystery man is nowhere to be found," he replied. "I'm not trying to be judgmental or anything, Sara, but that seems so unlike you."

He wasn't wrong. The lie about her children clashed with the character she'd presented to everyone she'd known in the Inquisition. Perhaps Dorian would understand. But if he didn't, what then?

"Dorian," she began slowly. "Come back to the nursery with me."

They walked back upstairs and she shut and locked the doors behind them before sitting beside him on the sofa. "What's the matter, Sara?"

"I'm going to tell you something you can never repeat. Ever. It cannot leave this room. Please." His eyes widened with concern and he took her hands firmly.

"Alright. Tell me."

Sara took a deep, calming breath, despite the fact that she was shaking. "My last night in Skyhold, the Well of Sorrows spoke to me and repeatedly told me to dream. That same night, Cole came to me and told me the same thing. I haven't heard from either voice since. As soon as I went to sleep, I was pulled into the Fade."

"Well..." Dorian cleared his breath. "That's as suspicious as it it frightening."

"It was very bizarre. As soon as I was in the Fade, I realized Solas was there."

Dorian cocked his eyebrow. "Now, did he actually say something this time or just watch longingly like before?"

"We spoke, a little." Sara felt heat rise to her cheeks. "And then..."

His eyes widened with understanding and his skin paled slightly. "Sara? What are you trying to tell me?"

"He was the only person I'd been with, Dorian," she confessed and watched his face contort in despair.

"Andraste preserve me," he whispered. "But you were in a dream."

"I know."

"He can't be _that _powerful, Sara. I mean, it's unheard of."

"I know, Dorian. I didn't believe it was possible either," she said. "But he isn't just some mage. He was an Evanuris or at least as powerful as them."

"This is unfathomable," Dorian whispered. He took several moments to think before saying, "If anyone knew about this, you could be in grave danger."

"I'm more concerned for them," Sara replied glancing over to the cribs. Dorian's jaw set resolutely and he took her shoulders.

"I will take this conversation to the grave, my friend. No one will ever know. If anything happens, you can rely on me to help in any way I can." Before she knew it, she was crying once more and wrapped in a strong embrace. She wasn't sure who to trust with this secret but she was glad that Dorian was still the true friend he always was.

He broke the embrace and wandered over to the cribs. He looked into them and sighed. "For such an intelligent man, he's a perfect idiot. My own father was many shades of disappointing and frustrating and awful but... I can't imagine never having him."

"I know there will be pain and confusion as they get older," Sara said. "But they'll know what I know now; the family you choose can be as irreplaceable as the family you're born into."

Dorian didn't stay in Kirkwall long, only two days before she sent three of her guards with him to Minrathous. It was mid-winter before anyone else visited. Sara was in the middle of deep, thankful sleep when the sound of her guards yelling at someone woke her. She bolted out of bed and ran downstairs where the shouting became louder.

"I'm friends with the lady, alright, jackboot?"

"How did you get in?"

"Through the back door... Heh, that was dirty."

Sara pushed past her guards at hearing the familiar voice. "Sera?"

Sera blinked up at her from the sofa in the nursery, Aiden bouncing happily on her knee. "Hey there, Mumsie. I didn't mean to scare your jackboots, it's just pretty cold out there and I knew you wouldn't mind."

"It's alright," Sara mumbled to the guards with a breath of relief. "Sera is welcome here."

Her guards left while grumbling swears under their breaths and Sara folded her arms tiredly. "You really scared us, Sera."

"Well, everything's good now, right? It's only me," Sera replied. "You know, when Widdles told me you were going to be a mumsie I thought she was trying to be funny. But look-" She tickled Aiden who burst into joyful giggles. "Not just one little elfie but two. That couldn't have felt good..."

Sara chuckled and joined her on the sofa. "I didn't know you liked babies, Sera."

"Well, what kind of prick doesn't like babies?" Sera muttered. "Vivi seems like she hates babies, right? I mean, she seems like she'd be they type of mumsie to just hand the little one to the nanny and say stupid things like 'oh, let her cry' or 'make sure she doesn't retch on me'. But I like kids. They're the littlest people that noble shits seem to forget about."

Sara was surprised by her, but after a thought, a love of children suited Sera completely. Sera had always been a free spirit and a bit immature but she had a warm heart. She was determined to stand up for people that couldn't protect themselves and the people most in need of protection were often children. Pairing that with her own difficult childhood, it was less unbelievable as Sara initially thought.

"How have you been?" Sara asked her.

"Alright, I 'spose. Been in Ferelden a lot. Most of the Jennys talk about cleaning up there. Kinda boring, innit?" She shrugged carelessly and looked down at Aiden, who was blinking drowsily. "All right, elfie, lets get you back to bed."

Sera laid him in his crib and turned to Sara with a grin. "So, have any food or anything? I'm starving." Sara chuckled gently and led her to the dining hall where Sera ate and drank her fill, then climbed the stairs to snuggle into a warm bed and by the time the sun rose, she had departed, the only reminder that she was there being crimson blankets wrapped around the twins.

For another year, life was rather humdrum. Unexpectedly in the middle of spring, Sara received a letter from Orlais that read:

_My dear Comtesse Sara Lavellan, I would like to apologize for not writing you sooner to congratulate you on the new members of your family. Empress Celene and I send our sincerest regards. We have not forgotten all the efforts you made on our behalf years ago in Halamshiral. Thus, I would like to visit you to personally give you gifts on behalf of the crown. Look forward to my arrival in the early summer. I am very ecstatic to speak to you in person once more. Marquess Briala of the Dales_.

Sara was mildly confused by the letter. She hadn't had any contact with Briala in years and while she was grateful for whatever gift she was bringing, she expected that there was more she wanted to discuss while she was in Kirkwall.

A month or so after Sara received the letter, she got word that Briala was only a day away, so she spent the day with her staff cleaning and preparing for her arrival. The next morning, Sara dressed in her finest gown of lavender colored samite and put the twins in their nicer clothing as well. By the time she was ready, her butler announced that Briala had arrived in the courtyard.

Briala climbed from her carriage in a lovely gown of silver brocade with short sleeves to combat the heat. A rope of emeralds was clasped around her throat and wrists she didn't wear an Orlesian mask. Sara had never seen her full face or hair, which was the color of warm cinnamon, and found her to be disarmingly lovely.

Sara offered her a polite curtsy and said, "Welcome to Kirkwall, Marquess. I am delighted to see you again." Briala shooed away the formality and embraced Sara before kissing both her cheeks.

"There's no need for etiquette," Briala urged, taking her arm and walking into the manse. "I'd like us to be friends."

Sara smiled amiably. "Of course. Please, be comfortable. Would you like anything? Tea, perhaps?"

"Wine." They sat across from each other in the drawing room while the butler served them a light, fruity white wine as well as fresh bread, olives, honeyed butter and a sharp white cheese.

"If you don't mind, Sara," Briala said after taking a few sips of wine. "Before we speak, I'd like to see the children."

"Of course," Sara allowed. She had her chambermaids bring them from the nursery. Briala held out her arms and was given Amelie to hold while Sara took Aiden for a moment. Briala stared at Amelie, almost awestruck, for several moments before kissing her cheek and handing her back to the chambermaid.

"They are lovely," Briala murmured, her eyes following the twins as they were returned to the nursery.

"Thank you," Sara replied. "I'm flattered that you've made the journey all the way here."

Briala didn't answer for a moment, lost in thought, before looking at Sara, smiling and saying, "I had wanted to speak with you personally for years now, actually, but neither you or I have had time for personal visits until now."

Sara chuckled in agreement. "You're not wrong."

"You petitioned for me in Halamshiral," Briala said. "You didn't know me or anything about me except rumors, but you petitioned for me all the same. I will never forget that."

"I only wanted to help," Sara assured her.

"I know. And you did." Briala paused to finish her glass of wine. "This information I am about to tell you is not publicly known yet. Can I assure your confidence, Sara?"

"Yes." Sara felt herself shiver with disquiet.

"Celene has named me her heiress for the throne of Orlais." Sara stifled a gasp of shock and instead covered her lips with her fingers. "I know it's incredible to hear. An elven woman will govern the Empire of Orlais." Briala's eyes shimmered with pride.

"Congratulations," Sara murmured quietly. It would not be an easy road for Briala. Few people would accept her as Empress.

"You seem nervous." Briala laughed knowingly. "I was as well, but I know that I cannot deny this opportunity and what it means for our people. But I can't do this alone, Sara." She pulled out a neat letter, stamped with the Imperial coat-of-arms. "This is an official invitation to come and take a position in the Orlesian court as an ambassador and adviser."

Sara looked over the letter blankly. It was such a generous yet dangerous offer. If Briala was liked and respected, taking the position would only be beneficial. If she was hated, however, everyone associated with her would be in precarious positions. Sara brushed her thumb over the wax seal, which was no longer the lion of the Valmont family, but a pair of daggers tangled in vines of flowers.

"Why are you asking me now?" Sara asked. "Is Celene unwell?"

"She will pass soon." The way her tone shifted filled Sara with dread.

"What have you done?" Sara shied away from her.

"Women Celene's age often fall victim to illnesses suddenly, Sara. It will be a tragedy," she said matter-of-factly which made Sara stare at her in horror.

"I thought you loved her," was all Sara could manage, her mind reeling.

"You thought I loved the woman responsible for slaughtering innocent elves in Halamshiral? The woman who would do so again, if her power was put into question? You're more naive than I thought then. When you attempted to reconcile us, I thought it was with the understanding that I would use my position at Celene's side to better the lives of our people. I would never have believed that you actually thought... Well, we were all young and senseless once." Briala pinned her with a condescending gaze.

"You..." Sara could hardly find the words to voice her disgust. "I will not claim power by stepping over the bodies of others. I refuse your invitation."

"A pity." Briala stared at her for a long moment. "I don't want to force you into this, _comtesse_. But you know too much to be left here with my intentions. You will come to Orlais and serve."

Sara met her gaze firmly, suddenly thrust into the Game. "I have no ties to the Orlesian Empire and thus no obligation to serve you."

"This doesn't have to be a one-sided arrangement," Briala said, softening her voice. "I know you've been looking for Fen'Harel's whereabouts. Having the support of the Orlesian army or a network of spies can help tremendously."

"And what would _you_ gain from that?"

"Fen'Harel is dangerous and must be stopped," Briala muttered adamantly. "He has shed blood everywhere he's walked and will answer for everything he's done."

Sara inhaled deeply, collecting her thoughts. "Fen'Harel _will _be stopped. But I'm not willing assist a woman who's willing to kill her rival. Such actions make you no better than him."

Briala blinked, her eyes narrowing darkly. "What a shame." She stood and walked to the hearth slowly, resting her hand on the mantle. "I've been trying to goad Fen'Harel into exposing himself for years now. I hoped that with your cooperation, we would determine a way to trap him together. I figured that he would reveal himself for you." Briala's eyes met Sara's with a ruthlessness that put demons to shame. "I'm certain that he would reveal himself for the children."

_No_. Sara felt her heart freeze. _She cannot mean..._

"You're confused, Briala," Sara managed.

"Oh, I'm not." Briala's smile was laced with hatred. "I know when I'm looking in the eyes of my enemy. I knew as soon as I saw your daughter. Do you think you weren't watched at the ball? Do you think everyone didn't note your closeness with him? Do you think we didn't remember that when we learned he was Fen'Harel?"

"I don't know who you believe my children are," Sara began furiously, "but if you ever threaten their well-being again, you'll never see the Orlesian throne."

Briala's strong facade fell briefly only for her to feign confidence with a smirk. "How fierce. You're almost charming."

"It's time you left, Marquess." Sara left and signaled for her guards. "Please show Lady Briala out."

"I won't forget this," Briala snapped, though she made determined steps out of the drawing room.

"Neither will I," Sara promised.

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**No new Elven Phrases.**

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**Long, yeah?**

**(Sorry, Sera's dialect has infused in my typing)**

**So, go on. You'll leave a review, right?**


	8. Banal Silaima IV

**Hi, everyone (or no one).**

**Here's a break from all the drama (kinda).**

**We get some more of Solas' past this time, so I'm excited (Pumped, actually).**

**I hope everyone's having fun reading so far (I feel like I wrote this exact thing a few chapters ago... creative!)**

**Happy Reading!**

**~Garnet**

* * *

**Banal Silaima IV**

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Despite the multitude of youthful beauties living in Arlathan, Solas loved dancing with dowagers. They were amusingly coquettish and full of a zest for life that some youth didn't have. They always told the most scandalous or ridiculous stories and were so easy to charm. All they needed was a coy smile and peck on the hand to be completely enthralled. Dowagers gossiped frequently, so charming a few could completely warp someone's reputation in certain circles.

Solas thrived in these settings laced with secrets, danger, jealousy and lust. It was always intriguing to catch people struggling to act opposite of their intentions and there was a certain thrill in thwarting clumsy attempts at manipulation and seduction.

Arlathan was celebrating the summer solstice. Every roadway was covered with yellow flower petals to evoke eternal sun rays. In common neighborhoods, festivals were thrown where children with painted faces wade in fountains to gather fruit heir parents harvested and thrown into the water to help them keep cool. By nighttime, joyful music would echo through the streets.

The nobles, however, gathered in the great crystal palace just north of the city for an evening of delight, debauchery and treachery.

It was fashionable for women to wear the thinnest silk gowns they owned without compromising their modesty to keep from being overheated. Many of the younger men, excluding Solas, went without shirts, instead opting for sheer, billowing cloaks made of vibrantly dyed lace and worn on one shoulder and tied with a matching silk ribbon. Older or more distinguished guests dressed modestly, though thin silk was still the most common material used for dress.

Solas opted for a muslin shirt and pants. While the material wasn't the much-liked sheer that everyone wore, it was still cool and a striking shade of white.

By the time Solas arrived at the palace, the festivities were full underway; the smell of wine had already been fixed in the air as heavy as the perfumes women were wearing. He took a cup to start and wandered the palace, simply observing at first. Once that began to bore him, he went to the ballroom and locked eyes with a dowager he'd met previously. She was a lovely old woman, petite and engaging with the highest little laugh he'd ever heard. He graciously danced with her for two full songs before they parted, with her patting his cheek affectionately.

Solas led her back to her gaggle of other widowed noblewomen with a polite bow and left to find more wine. The dining hall was nearly empty so he took his time sampling the different wines offered before settling on a full glass of white wine so rich and fortified that it took on a deep golden color.

As he was leaving to mingle once more, a familiar, sulky face caught his eye. "Felassan, _arani_," Solas called and he looked from his lap, confused, then brightened considerably. Felassan was dressed in the popular half-cape, though it was dyed a subtle, muted blue that complimented his swarthy skin and dark hair.

"You're flushed, Solas," Felassan said, joining him as they left the dining hall. "Tell me you're not drunk this early."

"No, no. I've been dancing," Solas replied.

"Ah." Felassan shook his head in slight distaste. "I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up with you tonight, _arani_. I haven't forgotten last year."

"What happened last year?"

"A great deal, the most embarrassing for you involving a fountain and too much of this." He poked the wine glass gently with a chuckle.

"I can't even remember," Solas murmured with a frown. He set his half-finished glass down on a nearby table; there was no need in revisiting whatever humiliation was caused by that wine. "Anyhow, when did you return to the city?"

"I've been here almost a month now," Felassan replied. "After I left _Vir Dirthara_, Mythal wrote me, so I went to pay her a visit. Then we traveled here together. Have you been at the library this entire time?"

"Yes. I arrived this morning." Solas had been studying there ever since he completed his official schooling. He remembered when the library seemed nearly empty. Now, it was overflowing with information and a very sought out location of peace, near-silence and knowledge. "You're living with Mythal now?

"Yes. She took one look at the gallery I rented and nearly died of horror. She dragged me to her villa without another word." Felassan laughed though Solas folded his arms stubbornly.

"I told her that we would be working there when I returned from _Vir Dirthara,_" he mumbled.

"Oh, she knows. She was just appalled with the implication that we'd be living there." Felassan nudged him with his elbow lightly. "She means well."

"I know," Solas sighed. She always meant well. He didn't want her to feel like she had to accommodate him, but she was so selfless it was cruel to tell her to not help. "She's here, isn't she?"

Felassan's eyes shifted to the entrance to the ballroom and his motioned his head in that direction. "She's appeasing her admirers."

Mythal stood out, as she always had, in a thin silk gown the color of honey, gold cuffs on her upper arm and golden chrysanthemums woven into a laurel pinned into her black hair. She stood by the doors, a sea of admirers waiting to greet her until she saw the two of them observing the scene, amused.

"They act like if they touch her gown, she'll agree to marry one of them," Felassan muttered sarcastically to which Solas held back a laugh.

"Do you want to know why she's undeniably cruel? Because she'll give _none _of them any more than a smile," Solas replied. "She's a tease."

Felassan nodded. "They're fools."

Solas nodded and caught her eye with a joking smile and a flippant wave. He watched her expression change from polite but disinterested to mischievous. She waded through the sea of suitors over to where they were standing and flung her arms around Solas gleefully, to which many of the suitors faces fell in what would have made Solas collapse in laughter if he wasn't tactful.

"_Arani_, my dear Solas, it's been far too long," she said, tightening her embrace. "I'm so glad you're home."

"Thank you," he murmured, pulling away gently. "How have you been?"

She scoffed and took each of their hands before leading them into the ballroom. "Dismally bored. Everyone in this city is so miserably predictable."

Felassan chuckled. "I'll try not to take offense."

Mythal smiled apologetically. "Excluding Felassan, of course. Besides him, this has been a very dreary spring."

"Hm." Solas looked at her with feigned thoughtfulness. "You're bored? Does that mean you'll marry some poor nobleman again?"

She laughed sarcastically. "Well, I must admit I've been thinking about adding another to my collection, but, alas, no one in Arlathan has interested me. What about you, Solas? Have you tired of your self-inflicted celibacy yet?"

"It's the only reason I returned to Arlathan," he joked.

"Oh," Mythal giggled and squeezed his hand. "How I've missed you."

The three of them wandered the ball, gossiping and reconnecting. It was a time Solas would remember as nearly as innocent as childhood. They were all young and full of potential and the future seemed so bright. He wouldn't have fathomed, as he danced with his friends joy swelling within him, that this ball marked the beginning of things unraveling into madness.

He was pulled from perpetual whimsy by Mythal's sharp breath. "Who is _that_?" she asked, suddenly enchanted.

Solas spun his head in the direction she was looking. At the top of a staircase, in almost a fashion that was _too _rehearsed, stood a man, tall and surrounded by a procession of followers. He was wearing the popular half-cape, in intricate lace dyed a blinding scarlet and his hair fell in a tumble of dark brown waves. His expression was strong but disinterested, above all the festivities and people in attendance, but required to attend for propriety's sake all the same. Solas recognized him as the only person unimpressed by _Vir Dirthara; _his opinion of the man was jaded as a result.

"He calls himself Elgar'nan," Solas told her.

"Does he?" She smoothed the front of her gown and craned her neck to get a better look. "What do you know about him?"

"Not much. But all you really need to know about him is observable in this moment," Solas muttered.

"If Solas is trying to say that he looks like pompous lout," Felassan interjected, "I agree."

Mythal rolled her eyes with a scoff. "Even if he is, such men can be tamed."

Solas barked out a laugh. "Take it from a man; no, they can't."

She tossed her hair behind her shoulder and smiled confidently. "We'll see. It takes a certain kind of woman to break down a man's pride. By the time I've worked my magic, he'll be a rabbit in my snare."

"Hunt well," Felassan called after her as she sauntered across the ballroom boldly. The rest of the evening faded into a blur and suddenly Solas was at another ball, in another palace, in another time. Mythal's departing figured dissolved into Sara bent over a balcony in the Winter Palace, her shoulders relaxed for the first time that night.

The prospect of enchanting the imperial court had frightened Sara far more than any demon or Venatori agent ever could. She barely seemed phased by preventing the empress' assassination; that would be _simpler _than putting her practiced poise on display for courtiers that would know she wasn't as adept at the Game as them.

She needn't have worried as much as she did; the court was enthralled by her. Sara was just the perfect amount of humble but confident and cunning but inconspicuous to navigate people so false they had to physically wear masks. It was riveting to observe her curl her finger around unsuspecting nobles who fed her information they would never had revealed otherwise.

In the course of a few hours, she managed to rescue Empress Celene, publicly disgrace Duchess Florianne as a conspirator and traitor, remove Gaspard as a potential rival or enemy, and reconcile Celene with her former lover, an elven woman who could only prove to be a worthy ally. It was extremely well played and if he didn't know that Sara was dreading this evening, he would have thought she was born for intrigue.

Solas joined her on the balcony when she was finally allowed a moment alone. Sara leaned on the balcony and sighed, as if she'd been holding her breath for hours. Frankly, she was laced into her corset so tightly, she likely hadn't taken a full breath all night.

Josephine outdid herself in choosing Sara's gown; it was smooth dark blue velvet with a jeweled bodice that exposed her shoulders. The sleeves were tight in the upper arm but flared out at the elbow. Josephine clasped her own serpentstone choker around her neck and Leliana allowed Sara to borrow a pair of doeskin dancing slippers. She was appallingly beautiful that evening and drew his eye constantly. How he was supposed to focus on finding a potential killer was beyond him when she was in the room.

By the time they'd discussed how distressed she was at the fate of Gaspard, he realized that all Sara probably wanted was a distraction.

"Come," he said decisively, hoping to pull her from her musing, "before the band stops playing, dance with me." He held out his hand and watched her eyes brighten considerably.

"I'd love to," she exhaled, a weary smile on her pretty lips. She took his hand and they did little more than sway for several moments, enjoying the faint music from within.

"Do you ever think about what you'll do after all this?" she asked suddenly, her head nuzzling his shoulder. "I mean, if we survive, of course."

The question caught Solas slightly off guard. Being with her had complicated things far more than he'd intended. He had always assumed that after the Inquisition defeated Corypheus, he would retake his orb and begin with his plans to remove the veil. Now, while he still wanted to go ahead with his plans, he also didn't want to lose Sara. But it seemed like both desires were incongruent with each other. He _would_ lose her if she knew the truth about him and what he needed to do.

"I haven't," he lied. "In times like this, it can be difficult to think of what's to come."

"How grim." Sara laughed and looked at him playfully. "Well, call me over optimistic, but I think about it all the time."

Solas tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Alright," he humored her. "What are your plans?"

"Don't laugh at me," she said.

"I won't," he replied.

"Well," she began shyly. "Once we have some time to breathe, I was hoping that you'd come with me to Wycome. To meet my family."

Something warm and sad stirred in him. Part of him would like nothing more than to go with her and discover what could evolve between them without the threat of death and destruction looming. That same part of him knew it would be impossible.

"My mother will adore you," she sighed. "Completely."

"You think so?" Solas peered at her doubtfully.

"Yes. She's very soft-spoken and intellectual so I'm sure that she'd find you fascinating," Sara explained.

"What about your father and the rest of your clan?" Solas asked.

"It's difficult to say how the rest of my clan will feel about you, but my father is a simple man and he'll just appreciate that you care for me. And my brothers are young so I doubt they'll be hard to impress." Sara shrugged and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Just show them some magic or something."

"How young are they?" Solas asked.

"Tavin is elven now, Felren is seven and Ardis is four." She paused to think for a moment. "No, he's five."

"You're the oldest?"

"Thankfully." Sara laughed. "I couldn't imagine being younger than any of them, they're so obnoxious. My parents wanted a gaggle of children but had difficulty conceiving. I'm sure when they married they'd planned on having more than four of us but after Ardis, I think my mother's done."

"I don't blame her," Solas replied. "Keeping an eye on three boys can't be easy."

"She's too sweet for them," she said. "When I was at home, I'd keep them in line and out of trouble, even though they constantly sought it out."

"You were just being an evil older sister," he teased, only for her to pout and try to squirm out of his arms to no avail.

"I'm not taking you to meet them anymore," she huffed. "It'll just be days of 'Let's torment Sara'."

"Days of tormenting you?" Solas took her hand. "We should leave and go to Wycome now. Why wait?"

She struggled feebly, chuckles breaking through her pretend outrage with giggle-filled demands for him to release her. Eventually, he pinned her to the cool outer walls of the palace, both of them nearly in tears from laughter. Once the laughter subsided, she looped her arms around his waist and craned her neck to steal a kiss. He melted into her and as he trailed his lips down her jaw he nearly forgot where they were.

As much as the atmosphere of a ball brought forth feelings of romance and whimsy, it wouldn't be appropriate for the Herald of Andraste to be caught in the arms of her "Elven serving man". As Solas pulled away from her, shocked at his own restraint, he wished for Arlathan. There, at parties like this, it would be easy to find a quiet, empty hallway to have privacy. His mind flashed with visions of her pinned against a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, skirts hiked around her hips and her hand covering her mouth to stay quiet as he pulled moans from her.

_Now is not the time_, he told himself, warmth coating his skin. "We should stop," he requested hoarsely.

Sara's smile was dripping with mischief, her eyes feverish and lustful. "Perhaps... What's the harm in a little scandal?"

"More than you think," he murmured and brought his lips to her ear. "_Melena, vhenan_. We'll be at Skyhold before long." He took her hand gently and led her through the palace to find Josephine. As calm as he seemed externally, inside, he was as overwrought with desire as Sara.

_Skyhold has never seemed farther away..._

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Melena_: Wait

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

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**Thanks for reading! Please Review!**


	9. Halamshiral

**Hey there, so get ready for a LONG chapter.**

**I'm excited to see what you guys think.**

**Happy Reading!**

**~Garnet**

* * *

**Halamshiral**

* * *

The summons were mailed in a severe red envelope with a wax seal of twin daggers set in silver lacquer. Inside was an official invitation to attend the coronation, masquerade and banquet celebrating Briala as empress of Orlais. Sara stared at the neatly penned invitation numbly. She hadn't expected for Briala to act so quickly; it had been less than a year since she came to Kirkwall with her threats and extortion. Sara wrote to Leliana and Cassandra about her suspicion that Briala would murder Celene, but they could hardly act without proof.

Earlier that winter, Empress Celene's heart stopped in her sleep. According to Leliana, no one in the imperial court suspected a thing. All the same, the three of them discussed ways to combat any other of Briala's plots and decided to allow some of Leliana's agents in the Chantry to spy for a while. That worked in garnering information, though Briala was living very innocently since Celene's death. They'd almost stopped investigating until Sara received the invitation to the coronation.

She would be crowned on the summer solstice, so Sara had time to prepare. She wrote to many, requesting their presence at the ball, including Josephine, Dorian, Cullen and Vivienne. She wrote to Dagna as well, hoping that through her she could reach Sera. They all agreed to meet in Kirkwall to discuss a formal plan before traveling to Halamshiral where Briala would be crowned and take formal residence as empress.

The former Inquisition met at Varric's keep three weeks before the coronation. As Sara walked through the halls and into his parlour, a subtle fluttering began in her stomach. She was faintly enthralled by the prospect of entering back into her former life. After losing her arm, she never thought she'd be in a position of action again, but thanks to Dagna and Bianca, she had the ability to fully lead. She never thought she'd miss it after ending the Inquisition but she'd been wrong about many things.

The parlour was full, bustling with activity, the aura thick with determination. Leliana, dressed out of her Divine garb in common clothing, with looking over a map with Cullen, Cassandra and Josephine as if no time had passed since they'd last seen each other and they were back in Skyhold. A small cluster of Chantry sisters stood quietly toward the back of the room and Sara was sure that they were special agents for Leliana. Vivienne glanced around the room primly, followed around by a procession of mages that looked as unimpressed with the keep as Vivienne. Dorian and Varric chatted casually while Iron Bull, an unexpected face, sampled wine with Sera, Krem and the Chargers.

Gazing about the room left Sara overcome with gratitude at their devotion for what the Inquisition stood for. The first person to notice that Sara had arrive was Cullen, who immediately sunk to his knee reverently. Person by person either knelt or bowed and a rush of sudden strength struck Sara. They were depending on her to have the capacity to lead and she refused to disappoint them.

"We are ready to serve at your side again, Comtesse," Cassandra said firmly, to which many offered nods of approval.

"Thank you," Sara replied. "I am indebted to all of you and will never forget this."

"Don't think on it too much, Sara," Dorian said with a smirk. "We all actually have death wishes and delusions of grandeur. To live 'normal' lives would be far too humdrum for us."

"Yeah," Sera agreed. "Where's the fun in that?"

"So, what's going on now?" Bull asked. "I thought our plans were to find Solas and stop _him_."

"Our plans in that regard haven't changed," Sara explained. "However, Briala's ascension is a pressing issue if she did murder Celene. Pairing that with the exodus of city elves and the lack of word from the Dalish worries me. Frankly, this may all lead back to Solas but we won't know that unless we investigate."

"Briala's coronation will be a fine opportunity to discover what she's planning and determine if she's connected to the missing elves or Solas," Leliana stated.

"I don't believe she's working with Solas intentionally," Sara interceded. "She made it quite clear that she saw him as an enemy."

"That may be true," Leliana allowed. "But she may have only been trying to gain your support by having a common enemy. As a spy, lying comes naturally to her."

"Is that all you would have us do?" Josephine asked. "Investigate."

"Yes. Gather information and observe. We'll discuss what we learn after the festivities are over," Sara said. "Within this group, myself, Leliana, Cassandra, Josephine, Dorian, Vivienne and Varric have received formal invitations. We will actively investigate while there. Sera, I'd like for you to contact our friends in Orlais, especially Halamshiral, to see if they know something we don't."

"Alright, Mumsie," Sera replied. "Simple enough."

"Hawke will also attend," Varric said. "I can tell him to keep his eyes open."

"Great." Sara met eyes with Bull. "You're with me."

He smiled, excitement flashing across his face. "Good. It'll be like old times. What about the Chargers?"

"I'd like them to stay here," Sara murmured. "Briala found it necessary to threaten my twins, therefore, I need people I trust to look after them while I'm away."

"You never mentioned that in your letters." Cassandra looked at Sara sternly. "What provoked her?"

"Briala believes that I'm allied with Solas and thought that threatening them would scare me into working with her," Sara explained.

"Fucking bitch," Sera swore.

"We'll look after the children," Krem murmured. "It's not our usual gig but we'll manage."

"Speaking of the twins," Leliana put in, "I've brought one of my Sisters from Val Royeaux to come and look after them as well."

A small, meek looking woman dressed in Chantry robes walked to Leliana's side. She had big, warm brown eyes and a plump but welcoming frame. Her small smile radiated compassion and wisdom. Around her eyes were deep laugh lines which told more about her friendly disposition than it did about her age.

"Allow me to introduce Sister Mary Forrest. Before she came to Val Royeaux, she was working across Thedas as a healer, teacher and nurse for common children. I figured that while we were away, she would be helpful in caring for the twins. Unless, of course, you already have a nurse."

"I don't," Sara confessed. She didn't want her children to be around people she didn't trust but she also believed that Leliana wouldn't bring someone she wasn't sure about.

"I am honored to serve you in any way I can, Comtesse," Sister Mary said sweetly. "While you are away, you'll need someone to nurture as well as educate the children. If you would have me, I'd be happy to remove that burden from your shoulders."

"If Leliana deems you capable," Sara began with a breath, "then I'm happy to invite you in my household for a time. After I return from Halamshiral, we can see if your position will be permanent."

"As you wish, Comtesse," Sister Mary replied with a bow and returned to her place with the other sisters.

From there, they made plans to travel to Halamshiral discreetly and individually as to not reveal that they were all working together.

Bull and the Chargers lingered in Kirkwall for the few weeks before the coronation. The morning Sara and Bull departed was excruciating. She'd never been apart from her children and the idea of leaving them anywhere without her was nearly incomprehensible. They were so little. Only three.

All the same, she had to leave them in order to protect them. And if all went well, she would only be away for a little while. No more than a fortnight.

They took a quick liking to Sister Mary, so that eased several of Sara's worries. She didn't doubt that they would be well looked after while she was in Halamshiral.

She held back tears as she embraced them and stroked their hair, committing every detail of them to her memory. Aiden wept, red with sorrow, and clung to the front of her cloak although Amelie was more confused and curious than upset.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her thumb between her lips.

"To another country," Sara explained simply. "To visit with a friend."

"Why can't we go with you?"

"It isn't..." No, she couldn't tell them that it wasn't safe. It would only lead to imagined danger and fear. "Children aren't welcome there," she explained instead.

"Unfair," Amelie muttered glumly.

Sara laughed gently. "I know, _da'len_. And I'm sorry but I'll only be away for a little while." She rocked Aiden, who'd calmed in her arms. "Alright? Only a little while. I promise."

She gave final tight hugs to each of them and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. As she climbed into her carriage, Sister Mary took them by the hand and said, "I'll treat them as if they were my own, Comtesse. You have nothing to fear."

"Thank you," Sara replied and all too soon, the carriage began to slowly creak with movement.

"_Ar lath ma,_ Mama," they called, squirming away from Sister Mary to follow behind the carriage.

"I love you," Sara called back, her voice breaking slightly. She waved until she could hardly see them in the courtyard and took a breath to sooth herself.

The Iron Bull occupied the space in the carriage across from her and stroked his chin uncomfortably. "Hey, uh, I'm not good at these sort of things, but-"

"You don't have to say anything, Bull," Sara replied. "I'm fine."

He sat back against the cushions and looked at her observantly. "How long is the trip to Orlais?"

"By ship? Four days, perhaps five. And half a day to Halamshiral once we port," she explained.

"Good. That should give us plenty of time."

Sara shifted nervously. "For?"

"When's the last time you had a _good fight_, Boss? Four years ago? I bet you haven't even given your fancy new arm a decent test run yet." Bull's chuckle was a low, deep rumble. "Everyday on this ship, we are going to fight until fighting is second nature for you again."

"You honestly think that five days is enough time?" Sara asked, her eyebrow raised in doubt.

"Well, no, actually. But it's enough time to get you familiar again. In case something happens in Halamshiral and I'm not around." He shrugged dismissively. "Hopefully, it's all for nothing, but if not, you'll be prepared."

"It's a good idea," Sara allowed. "Using this arm is nearly second-nature now, but, sometimes, the fingers lock and I can't seem to focus on the movements."

"Considering the arm you lost was your shield arm, all you'll have to do is build your endurance."

"In five days?"

"We've done harder thing in less time. Remember the three dragons in Emprise du Leon? We killed them in 5 hours." Bull smiled in remembrance. "Now _that _was a good fight. Seemed like every time we killed one, another would fly overhead. We were tired, cold and injured, but wouldn't stop until they were dead. I love fighting like we've got nothing to lose. It makes me feel alive."

Sara remembered the fight, though not as fondly as Bull. During that visit to Emprise du Leon, she learned that her clan was slain by bandits. She was grief-stricken and reckless and should've retreated from the ruins sooner. Fortunately, she, Bull, Cassandra and Solas managed to trudge back to camp after the dragons were slain. Being that close to dying seemed to cut through her despair and remind her why she needed to live. For the memory of her clan and for others she could spare from death.

"It can't hurt," Sara murmured, "to begin training again."

"I'm ready to see that fire come back into your eyes, Boss," Bull grunted. "If we go to the Winter Palace and our enemies sense any hesitance, we're fucked."

He wasn't wrong. Briala wouldn't be intimidated by verbal threats in her own space. As soon as she set foot in Halamshiral, Sara needed to have an air of physical strength as well as cunning. If Briala discerned weakness, she would take any opportunity she could to capitalize on it.

"You're going to hit me with a stick a lot aren't you?" She asked with a nervous laugh.

Bull chuckled and glanced out the window. "Yup."

* * *

"Come on! Pull, Boss!"

Sweat streamed down Sara's face, neck and back; her arm was pulsing with overuse and she could feel her fingers begin to slip from the ropes Bull had thrown around the mast of the ship.

Their first day sailing was the least painful by far, though that day began with swats to her legs with a thick plank to "master fear". Every time she flinched, Bull would smack her legs.

"Josephine made me promise that I wouldn't leave marks anywhere the nobles would see," Bull explained with a shrug. "And I'll stop when you don't anticipate the blow."

Eventually she stopped flinching and the first day ended with her soaking in salt water to help the bruises on her thighs fade. The second morning, she was abruptly woken by water splashing on her face. Before she knew what was happening, Bull tossed her over his shoulder with little effort and made her climb around the hull. She nearly slipped and fell in the Waking Sea too many times to be safe. Once she shimmied around the entire ship, they ate breakfast and sparred until sunset.

The days went on in a flurry of fighting and intensive exercise. On the final day, when Orlais was so close they could see the shape of the harbor, Bull strung rope to the fore mast and asked her to climb to the top of the mast and retrieve a flag he placed near the sails.

She climbed, the height of the mast making her stomach tighten. She tried to keep her palms from getting too moist, though her wooden arm was more supportive than she would've expected. As she neared the top, her right arm tingled with pain and she eventually dropped it and held on with her wooden fingers. A wisp of violet silk fluttered in the wind a few feet away, its distance taunting her.

_Enough of this_, Sara thought, blowing her hair from her eyes with a huff. She settled her feet on a lower rope and caught her breath before using all of her energy to launch herself in the air. The silk slid through her fingers and she nearly missed it before it gathered around her finger. A brief grin flickered across her face; it evaporated as soon as her other hand missed the rope and all too soon, she was falling.

"BULL!"

"I've got you, Boss!"

She landed in his arms with a hard thud and they fell to the deck clumsily. Iron Bull was breathless with laughter as Sara struggled to stand. She tossed the flag onto his face and stretched. "I meant to do that," she mumbled.

"Sure you did," he replied sarcastically, his laughter slowly subsiding. He stood and exhaled. "Alright. As a reward for sticking it out with me the past few days, I got you something." He fished in his pocket an pulled out a skinny dagger sheathed in leather and sewn to a thin lace garter.

"You won't be able to carry your sword in the palace and this time we won't have guards around to arm you, but you'll need something in case things go to shit," he explained.

"Thank you," Sara replied. "What do you think about Briala? Do you think she really killed Celene or was just trying to intimidate me?"

"I wouldn't put it past her to secure her position then remove her rival," Bull muttered. "In the same breath, it's too early to say whether she's actually that cutthroat. Her threats to you were suspicious, but if she really sees Solas as an enemy, she could be a good ally. Say she didn't kill Celene: if I were you, I'd try to smooth things over with her."

"If she is innocent, I'll consider it."

The rest of their journey was uneventful. After they docked, they rode to a small inn outside of Halamshiral where they prepared for the ball for the final three days before the event.

She dressed for the ball slowly, making sure that nothing was out of place. After a long soak in a bath, she rubbed perfumed oils on her entire body, pulled on a pair of silk stockings and clasped her dagger and garter around her thigh. Over that, she wore a thin underskirt and a tightly laced corset. Her gown was a deep, imposing red damask with short sleeves that cupped her shoulders and was belted at the waist with a chain of silver. She painted her lips with red rouge and pulled a nugskin glove onto her wooden arm to mimic the feeling of skin, then pulled on a pair of white satin evening gloves that clasped above her elbow.

Stepping into her shoes, Sara glanced at herself in the mirror and took a calming breath. _Everything will be fine,_ she told herself once, twice, thrice, and again.

It became her mantra as she rode with Bull to the Winter Palace. Her mind didn't quiet itself until they were greeted in the courtyard by impeccably dressed human servants.

"Well, that's new," Bull muttered under his breath.

"Yes," Sara agreed. As they continued through the palace, she noted a flipped dynamic of power. The few humans that attended were vastly outnumbered by elves draped in silk and jewels, glowing with new influence and wealth. Part of her wanted to flush with pride with them, but the other was cautious and worried.

Among a sea of mistrust, there was a single familiar, welcome face.

"What a severe tone of red you're wearing, Sara," Dorian commented with a wry smile. "You could almost pass for some wealthy black widow."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied, looking over his own regalia, a confection of violets, greens and blues. "And may I commend you for looking more like a peacock each time I see you."

Dorian chuckled deeply. "Thank you." He gave Bull an approving once over. "I ought to let you borrow him more often. Did you make him shave?"

"I made a suggestion," Sara replied with a shrug.

Bull snorted, his arms crossed stubbornly. "I know how to put on airs for these sorts of things without either of you."

"Of course you can, _Amatus. _Forgive us," Dorian murmured sweetly, but with a hint of sarcasm. Bull bristled, nearly melting in his own skin, before grunting, "I need a drink. I'll find you if something happens, Boss."

"Have you seen any of the others?" Sara asked Dorian.

"No." He folded his arms. "One of Leliana's agents told me that the empress asked to meet with the Divine and Cassandra so they've probably been up there." Dorian pointed to an upper gallery in the center of the ballroom where a line of elven guards stood resolutely, robbing the guests of a view of their new empress.

"She must already be receiving threats," Sara commented. "Why else would there be so many guards?"

"Whoever has her worried would be good to know," Dorian replied. "I'll ask around."

"I'll see what information I can find in the apartments." They parted ways for a while that night, though it was more difficult than Sara would have anticipated to wander, unfollowed, as it seem that all the apartments off the ballroom had guards posted by the door. Pairing that with a particular dark haired girl that followed her around every corner confirmed Sara's suspicion that Briala planned on having her followed.

She wasn't surprised, as Sara could unravel her throne with the right whisper in the right ear. She only suspected Briala of killing Celene, but many would likely jump at the chance to remove Briala from power. Alternatively, Briala did fully believe that Sara had a lingering connection to Solas.

_She knows about the twins. She suspects, but she's right and can never have certainty. If she decided to act..._ Sara didn't care to think on it further. Now, she was at an impasse; Briala made sure she wouldn't be able to investigate, so the only hope Sara only hope of gathering any information would be through playing the Game.

Of the people that would speak to Sara for more than pleasantries, there were only a few. Lords and ladies that fondly remembered her as the Inquisitor, tittered at her over how well she looked and how thankful they were over the Inquisition's efforts years before. They also gushed, quite sincerely, about how much they enjoy having an elven empress. Everyone Sara spoke to had nothing snide or informative to say.

_Perhaps she didn't do anything to Celene_, Sara thought after an hour or so of empty conversation. If that was true, then Sara had no reason to be concerned about the state of Orlais. All she had to do was convince Briala that she wasn't allied with Solas and quell her suspicions about the twins.

"Lovely party, no?" Dorian leaned beside her on a westernmost veranda that overlooked a hedge maze. "Everyone seems to feign happiness so well."

Sara chuckled humorlessly. "I never have to return to court. I don't know how you live like this."

"With a smile, plenty of wine and a draught for migraines." Dorian tossed his arm around her shoulder. "What have you learned?"

"Nothing. She may even be innocent," Sara confessed.

"Really? Well, I've seen stranger things."

"I think she's just trying to intimidate me into telling her information about Solas. Information I don't have, of course," Sara muttered, frustrated.

"Why is any of that information her business?" Dorian scoffed.

Before Sara could explain, they were joined on the veranda by the dark haired girl that had tailed her all night. The girl greeted them with a modest bow.

"Good evening. Comtesse, the empress requests your presence in the upper gallery," she said, her voice soft and airy.

"I would be honored to speak with her," Sara replied. She followed the girl back through the halls and into the ball room. Sara was glad to see Bull trailing a few steps behind her. After a short climb up a grand flight of stairs, Briala's line of elven guards parted to allow Sara to enter the gallery while Bull waited just outside the line.

Briala stood, her face a resolute mask of frost. She embodied pure elegance and was dressed in a gown of golden cloth, designed in the style of portraits of elven queens in Arlathan. Her royal crown was a circlet of twisted gold adorned with ruby roses.

"Comtesse." Briala nearly smirked in amusement. "I'm told you've been wandering the palace."

"The Winter Palace is such a marvel it offers something new to see every time I visit," Sara replied smoothly.

"Of course. You must forgive me, Comtesse. The palace is undergoing some renovation and it would not be safe for my guests to wander," Briala explained, her tone betraying the truth that she simply didn't want anyone snooping.

"I see." Sara took small steps toward her. "If I may speak plainly, I don't want there to be enmity between us."

"No one wants the ire of an empress, Comtesse," Briala replied smugly.

Ignoring her, Sara continued, "I think that we both assumed the worst in each other and were both wrong."

"I'm certain of your ties to Fen'Harel," Briala interrupted.

"You're wrong."

"And you're a fool if you think I'll put my guard down for a moment. I have not ever forgotten what he's done." Briala's face reddened considerably. "_Sila _Felassan."

"Who is Felassan?"

The empress' eyes narrowed and began to sparkle with moisture. She took a shuddering breath and composed herself before turning her back to Sara.

"Its time you left, Comtesse."

"Briala–"

One of Briala's guards stepped between them. "Farewell, Comtesse," he said and Sara knew it was over, at least for now. But at least she had a lead: a name. Felassan. Whoever he was.

"Well?" Bull asked when she emerged fro the gallery.

"Gather Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine for me. I think I may have a small lead."

Sara lingered and Bull went off to find their allies. _Who was Felassan and what did he have to do with why Briala hates Solas? _As Sara descended the stairs of the gallery, trapped in her musings, a small hand pulled her into an empty hall.

"Been looking everywhere for you, Mumsie. I didn't realize you were meeting with Her Grand Elfiness." Sera smiled sarcastically. "Anyway, whatever she was talking about couldn't be funner that what I know."

"What are the servants saying?"

"Well first of all, most of the servants are human now so that was weird. A bunch of poor sots that didn't have any other options. They don't complain much but the elves that used to be servants are all up their own arses now so... goody."

"Interesting," Sara murmured. "Have you heard any rumblings about Solas?"

"Nope. No mention of Wolf Nuts."

Sara couldn't stop the giggle that flew past her lips. "You know there's a word for wolf nuts in elvish."

"If I called Wolf Nuts wolf nuts in _his_ dead language, he'd like it, so no, he'll always be common Wolf Nuts," Sera said firmly.

"Alright. What about the name 'Felassan'? Does that sound familiar?"

"Hmmm... Dunno. I can ask around." Before Sara could even caution her to be careful, Sera had disappeared from the hallway, so she made her way back to the ballroom alone.

In a quiet corner, far from the gallery, Dorian, Bull, Josephine, Cassandra and Leliana all stood, their expressions frustrated and tired.

"Dorian tells us that you no longer suspect Briala and only wish to ally with her now," Cassandra said, straight to the point, as ever.

"Suspecting Briala on little more than an instinctual feeling seems unfair to say the least," Sara replied. "And I don't want to be her ally but I also don't want to be her enemy. Finding out why she hates Solas is the first step in clearing my name, so with that, are any of you familiar with the name 'Felassan'?"

"No, Boss."

"Unfortunately not," Dorian replied.

"The name sounds familiar," Josephine mused, "but I cannot be certain."

"'Felassan' you say?" Leliana paused for a moment. "I believe Felassan was the name of her _hahren_."

"'_Her_ _hahren'_? Not just _a hahren_?"

"If I'm correct, the man claimed no ties to an alienage," Leliana explained.

"Then he was Dalish?" Dorian supplied.

"Around Briala? That's unlikely." Leliana thought for another moment. "I don't remember exactly what happened to him, but I'll find out. In the meanwhile, try to seem inconspicuous."

Their group split for several moments, with Dorian and Josephine wandering the gardens for information while Cassandra sought to find Cullen and reaffirm their protection for the evening.

Sara circled the room, with Bull nearby, and asked after Felassan, but his name was not well known. She was beginning to lose faith when an older elf, with soft brown eyes lined with age approached her with a bow.

"My lady Lavellan, will you honor me with a dance?"

Sara faltered slightly but didn't see the harm in refusing him. When Leliana was ready, she'd have an excuse to end the dance.

"The honor would be mine." He led her to the dance floor and they made smooth, slow steps.

"I'm afraid we've never met," Sara said politely.

"Who I am is of little value. I am only a servant." He leaned close to her and whispered, "_Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris_."

Sara felt a chill run up her spine. She hadn't heard those words since her time in Vir Dirthara. It was Fen'Harel's greeting for allies and refugees. _His greeting... Did that mean...?_

"Is he here?" Sara asked, keeping her voice low.

Her partner's eyes flickered nervously before he simply replied, "He watches."

"He _is_ here." Sara craned her neck to look around though her partner only smiled.

"He sends his sincerest regards and asked me to relay to you a message."

"Yes?" Sara could feel her heart drumming in her throat.

"He says that he hopes you find what you're looking for."

It was cryptic and unhelpful and so much like Solas she could scream. "Tell me what you know of a person called 'Felassan'," Sara requested firmly.

"Felassan?" Her partner frowned deeply. "A traitor."

"He was an agent of Fen'Harel, then. Why did he betray him?"

The elf shrugged. "I cannot be sure. His name is practically a curse to us loyal few."

"You curse him, yet don't know why he left your cause. He could have had a good reason," Sara argued.

"What reason could there be when the future of your people is at stake?" Her partner's smile was rueful. "Likely, Felassan forgot himself in this new world."

_As Solas did_, she thought, suddenly irked. _He would likely say now that he "forgot himself" with me._

It seemed to her that if Felassan would be labeled a traitor for something Solas himself did, it was the height of hypocrisy. Before she could stop herself, she told the elf parallel to her, "Tell him I want to speak with him."

"That is not possi–"

"I _must_ speak to him. Tell him it's about the empress and Felassan." Sara watched as her partner's eyes glazed over with apprehension.

"I will relay your message, my lady, but I cannot guarantee a response."

After they parted, Sara paced the room anxiously. Her desire for answers could potentially undo her. She hoped that Solas had more sense than her and would simply refuse to reply to her request.

"My lady Comtesse."

Sara turned to face another well dressed elf, this one younger than her dancing partner, who greeted her by taking her hand and kissing it.

"How good it is to finally meet you," he said and slipped a paper into her palm. "I hope you find the evening exhilarating."

"Thank you," she replied, her breath caught in her throat. When he departed, she walked to a lonely corner of the ballroom.

"What's that, Boss?" Bull murmured, suddenly beside her.

"A note." She looked over the note, her heart beating faster than she would have expected. "Solas is here."

"You're shitting me."

"I wish I was." Sara tucked the note in the bodice of her gown. "According to this letter, Briala has captors waiting for me in my guest chambers. Will you investigate this for me?"

"No problem. Stay here, Boss."

She would have liked to head his request, however, the part of the note she kept to herself read:_ I will tell you of Felassan, but no more. Find me in the southern garden_.

Sara made her way to the southern garden without attracting any attention. The garden was empty and nearly silent, but for a light trickling of water from a fountain surrounded by roses. It was so quiet she could hear small footsteps approaching her. They were too quick in succession to belong to a single person so she hiked up her gown and unsheathed her dagger.

"Who's there?" she called.

The steps stopped.

Sara took a breath, her hand shaking. "Who–"

The blow to the back of her neck made her feel plunged in water, suddenly deaf and heavy. Her vision was leaving her as well, and the roses all collided together in a mess of red before complete blackness.

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Sila_: Remember

_Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris_: Phrase used to identify followers of Fen'Harel.

Loosely translates to "I promise that soon there will be freedom". (I dunno, I just write the tales. I'm no linguist haha)

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

* * *

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	10. Banal Siliaima V

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**~Garnet**

* * *

**Banal Silaima V**

* * *

Not much phased Solas. He'd seen too much during his travels in the Fade to be intimidated by happenings or people around him. The very first time he experienced true dread, dread so life-altering that is settled in the pit of his stomach and gripped his heart like a vice, was when he looked over The Fields of _Nehn_, filled with the bodies of slain elves that stretched on until the horizon.

The Fields stretched out between the sea and the Dales. From a distance, Solas assumed that the Fields were filled with crimson poppies, like some fields closer to Arlathan, but as he approached, he realized that the grass was splattered with blood. There was no green to be seen. Every piece of nature was covered by corpses and the corpses were covered by flies and maggots. Condors circled overhead, their large black wings blocking the sun from view, while vultures, with their hideous pink faces, picked at the cheeks of the long dead.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever forget the smell. It clogged his senses and gagged him. He covered his nose and mouth and walked along the outside of the pit of bodies. Several of the corpses were pierced by glowing, magic laced arrows with red feathers on the tail. _Andruil_, Solas realized, confused that she was present for this slaughter.

The remains of a _varterral _had a woman caught in its legs where they both died. _So, Dirthamen was here as well. At least two Evanuris against a group of civilians. Disgraceful._

Far towards the end of the field, a figure stood in a billowing black gown, a black lace veil flowing in the wind. Beside the figure was a flag decorated with the symbol of an owl at flight.

Falon'Din had been causing nonsense in the Empire for several years now. Shortly after Mythal married Elgar'nan, Falon'Din decided that he didn't like the influence the couple had in Arlathan and across the country. It started simply, with egotistical tournaments held to discern great mages and single them out to be defeated by Falon'Din. His circle grew and tournaments turned into games held in ancient amphitheaters where people fought to the death for his approval and favor. The man was mad and felt that any elf that wasn't marked by his vallaslin was his to brutalize.

Eventually he was invited back to a party in Arlathan where Mythal asked him to reduce the violence in the south. In the presence of hundreds of eyes in attendance, they shared a laugh.

"I'm sure you're worried about your colony in Nehn," he remarked, chuckling. "My men settled not far from there recently."

"I'm aware," Mythal replied, taking his hand amiably. "And I'd like to sleep well knowing that they won't be swept up into your little games."

He seemed to agree and left Arlathan after several weeks to return to his horde. It was a few weeks after, that word spread throughout the Empire about the battle in the Fields of Nehn between Falon'Din's brutes and Mythal's followers.

Solas, who had been at Vir Dirthara for the entirety of Falon'Din's nonsense, immediately went to Nehn, completely unprepared for what he would witness when he saw the bloody Fields. And there stood Mythal, over the bodies of the people she wished to protect.

"Mythal?" Solas called gently.

She turned to look at him; her eyes were puffy from crying and her hands were covered with blood. At her feet was a girl, too young to be a warrior, seconds away from death, gasping for air. "I can't save her," Mythal whispered, tears running down her face. Solas knelt to the girl and throughout her body were dozens of shivs made of crystallized blood. He could not remove them or close her wounds and within moments she died.

"_Dareth shiral_," he murmured and embraced Mythal as she sunk to the ground and sobbed. Her screams were the worst sounds he'd ever heard, because nothing he could do in that moment would ease her pain.

_I've never seen Sara cry_, he thought suddenly, wanting some reprieve by such a haunting memory. His mind wandered blankly for several moments. Unbidden, a gust of biting, snowy wind nearly made him lose his footing as he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

"Don't fall, mage," The Iron Bull called from behind him, looking frostbitten and ridiculous with no shirt to protect him from the cold and a pair of dragon horns under each of his arms. "I don't want to be the person to tell the boss that you fell to you death over a little bit of snow."

"Shall I be the one to tell Dorian that you caught your death for not wearing a shirt in the snow?" Solas called back.

Iron Bull barked out a laugh. "I'm warm from the inside out. There's dragons nearby that we'll get to fight soon. Doesn't that warm your skin?"

"No," Solas replied.

Iron Bull snorted with a shrug. "You're no fun."

Solas would have liked nothing more than to warm himself with magic but it seemed foolish to waste his energy with the impending threat of dragons.

Ahead of him, Sara and Cassandra marched through deeper paths of snow in the hills. Another gust forced them to stop moving and faintly, he heard Cassandra yell, "This is foolish. We should go back to camp and wait for the storm to pass."

"Alright. Fine. We'll try tomorrow," Sara called back. They each turned and began to traipse back down the hill, stepping in their old footprints.

"What about the dragons?" Iron Bull insisted.

"They can wait," Cassandra told him firmly and gave him an insistent push forward. Iron Bull grumbled the entire trip down the hill. It seemed that as soon as they reached the base of the hill, the winds softened and made their walk to camp pass quickly.

At camp, the soldiers had pitched a large tent for their Inquisitor. Inside, they'd built a fire pit and warmed furs and blankets. Solas nearly sighed with relief when he shed his snow covered cloak and sat by the fire, his hands practically covered in flames. Cassandra and Sara ducked behind a privacy screen to remove their wet clothing while Iron Bull sat beside Solas, his face still frustrated with the lack of dragons slain and a wooden bowl in his hand.

"Hey, Boss," he called gruffly. Sara peaked her head from behind the screen with a smile. "If you think bribing me with onion soup will make forget about our retreat-"

"I would _never_ try to bribe you with food, Bull," she insisted sarcastically and came out, dressed in wool leggings and a thick tunic.

"I'm not easy," Iron Bull grumbled.

"Who said you were?"

He took gulps of his soup and ignored her. Sara's face brightened with understanding. "If this is about Dorian-"

"It isn't."

Solas rolled his eyes. How a man like The Iron Bull could be predictable was baffling.

Sara sat beside Iron Bull and nudged him with her elbow. "Why are you two fighting?"

"I have no idea, Boss. All I know is that he's acting like a cat."

"A cat?" Cassandra asked, joining them.

"You know how house cats act like they hate you, but then also sit on your shoulder and purr when you're having an off day," Iron Bull explained. "That's what he's doing."

"You don't like that he plays hard-to-get?" Sara asked.

"No."

Cassandra groaned, clearly exasperated and stood to leave. "I don't want to know anything more about your... habits. I know too much already."

The Iron Bull smirked. "I thought you liked erotic stories."

She blushed and bolted from the tent in a huff as Sara held her stomach in laughter.

"We're awful to her," Sara giggled.

"Ah, she'll get over it." Iron Bull waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, I've decided to ignore Dorian's antics."

_That won't work, _Solas thought._ Dorian loves attention._

"That would only make him upset, Bull," Sara replied. "I think Dorian just likes to be chased. I wouldn't take his behavior too personally."

Iron Bull shrugged and took a deep swallow of soup. "Whatever you say, Boss."

Sara stood and stretched languidly before circling the fire pit to sit beside Solas. He immediately took her in his arms and heard Iron Bull murmur something about privacy and curtly leave the tent. For several moments, they simply held each other. The only sounds in the tent were the logs crackling in the pit and Sara's steady, deep breathing.

Solas adored moments like this because time moved so unnaturally and kept him locked in time with her. Minutes would pass gently and the sunset seemed to go on for weeks. _If only... _Solas thought ruefully. _I wish it could always be like this. _He kissed the top of her head and stifled a regretful sigh. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this moment with his melancholy.

Their fight against Corypheus would conclude soon, likely before the year's end. Solas always assumed that if and when the Magister was dead, he'd reclaim his orb and proceed with his plans. But now...

Sara's soft snores pulled Solas from his musings. _Rest_, he thought. _I must rest, too_. Sleep would calm his mind.

He brought her to a small sleeping mat away from the fire and pulled thick furs over them. Sara's arm wove around his waist tightly and he sighed, content.

* * *

The temple's walls were collapsing. Each intricately laid stone plummeted to the ground, shattering the gleaming mosaic floors into shards and turning grand sculptures of an owl at flight into crude lumps of clay.

The sound of war flooded the air; screaming, clashing steel, the roar of fire, the crackle of lightening, _screaming_, the groans of the dying.

By the time the deepest sanctum of the temple was breached, Falon'Din had surrendered to Mythal. Defeated and humiliated, Falon'Din became as wild as a toddler. He crashed is fists into the walls, again and again until his knuckles were red and raw and screamed obscenities.

Mythal accosted him during his tantrum. Solas would never forget the way Falon'Din looked at her; his eyes were wide, childlike and fearful, but also fiery with rage. They were a deep blue-black, shining with unquenchable hatred.

Regardless, when Mythal gripped her hand around his throat and demanded that he never slaughter the innocent again, all Falon'Din could do was whisper, "I'll do whatever you ask."

Solas woke with a nearly painful jolt. He sat up quickly, his heart pounding and a sharp sting between his shoulder blades. The tent had gone rather cool and beside him, the mat was empty. The memories he dreamt made him stumble dizzily toward the entrance of the tent. The cool air would surely clear his mind.

Outside, the camp was chaotic: soldiers marched aimlessly, all talking over each other in panic stricken tones. _Perhaps the dragons crossed the bridge_, Solas mused. Cassandra commanded an air of crippling concern, though it was hidden under her booming voice as she yelled at officers to "Scout north" or "Look in the ruins nearby."

Solas approached her calmly. "What is the matter?"

"Sara is missing." Solas felt a familiar pang of dread that made his blood run so cold it made the snow on the ground reminiscent of sand upon the Waking Sea.

"I'll find her," he said resolutely. Sending parties to find Sara would take time; none of these men knew her the way he did, thus making the search impersonal and fruitless.

"She left a few hours ago without a word to anyone," Cassandra explained. "If we can make contact with her before nightfall, I'll feel better." The sun was due to set in another hour and Solas nearly scolded her for not waking him sooner.

"How did she seem?" he asked.

"She was fine. She and I were talking near that fire over there." Cassandra pointed to a pit near the southernmost point of the camp. "She was opening letters during our conversation. I left for less than a minute and when I returned to the fire she was gone. It took us a while before we realized she left camp and she hasn't been back since."

"Pardon me, Seeker." One of the army's scouts bowed quickly. "Here are the missives you asked for." He handed a small stack of letters over to Cassandra.

Cassandra flipped through each letter quickly, her eyes scanning each note for some vague importance. One of them finally caught her attention. "This one's from Josephine," she muttered, mostly to herself. "She never writes us when we're in the field. What could she-" Cassandra's eyes looked over the letter once, then again, more slowly as her face drained of color. "Maker," she whispered and handed the letter to Solas somberly.

_My Lady Inquisitor and dearest friend, I sincerely regret to send my condolences-_

"I'll find her," Solad murmured gently, his stomach twisting.

* * *

By the time Solas journeyed across the crossing, Sara had been gone deep into nightfall. Every step through the snow, he reflected on Josephine's letter:

_My Lady __Inquisitor__ and dearest friend, I sincerely regret to send my condolences. I received word that our efforts to quiet the bandits in Wycome were unsuccessful. The bandits, I am sorry to say, attacked your clan some weeks ago. No survivors have been found at this moment, however, the governing family of Wycome has agreed to forward any discernible remains and keepsakes that were left behind to Skyhold in the hopes they will offer some solace. I am so sorry, Sara. If you need anything at all, please allow me to help. Josephine._

The entire situation reeked of betrayal to Solas. Sara never liked flexing the power of the Inquisition for what could be viewed as personal gain. Her humility, though admirable, could be seen as meekness. People were inclined to trample over the small. Solas remembered when Sara was informed of the bandits near her clan; she was a new leader then and she wanted to address the situation with tact. Diplomacy would send the message that she was a thoughtful leader, but this particular situation required force. Leaving her clan's safety to nobles on the strength of their word was a mistake. Her so-called allies in Wycome may have dallied or even complied with the bandits on purpose, as a way to remove the Dalish from their land. No one would ever know now. Any one that did would take the betrayal to their death.

Death. Her entire clan was completely gone. Wiped from the world like a sudden gust of wind. While Josephine spared Sara any morbid details, Solas knew that her own mind would create the ghosts that haunt her. It would not take much for her to imagine the slaughter; her days were filled with fighting and she would be quick to replace the face of some outlaw with face of her father or brother.

_She had three brothers_, Solas remembered suddenly. _All boys. The youngest one... What was his name?... Ardis? Yes. He was practically a toddler. Slaughtered. Her mother was gentle, Sara said. Soft-spoken, loving, matronly. Killed. Her father; she loved her father dearly._

But he was dead too. All her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, comrades, teachers, former loves, childhood rivals, all gone. Everyone that shared her name was gone.

_More and more she and I share despair. When I find her, she will look to me for strength but even I haven't soothed the pain of waking to a world where everything you knew vanished like an impulsive whim. What can I say to her, when she likely feels that she caused the slaughter? She will never forgive herself of this mistake._

_As I haven't._

Solas found her huddled within a ruin, warmed by veilfire. She trembled, though if it was from the cold or her tears, he could not be sure. "Sara." His voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at him; her eyes were nearly swollen closed, red and wet. Her face was streaked with the dried salt of her tears and her fingers were almost blue from the chill.

"Let me take you back to camp," he murmured, taking her hands and quickly warming them with magic but she didn't stand.

"I couldn't save them," she rasped.

"You..." Solas swallowed with a breath. "You did what you could."

"What is all this for, if I couldn't protect my own family?" she asked him, she eyes taking on a sudden fire.

"You've protected other families and you will save more by the time this is over," he assured her.

"So I must be willing to sacrifice people I love for everyone else?" she demanded, rising to her feet. "Is that it?"

"Leading requires many sacrifices, you know that," Solas replied, her fury stunning, forcing him to be stuck in her rage. "You are a woman of power and influence. Nothing was stopping Corypheus or any of your other enemies from going to Wycome and doing the very thing a few bandits did. People will look to weaken you through pain."

"So I have to be above pain?" She gripped his hands tightly as if to squeeze an answer out of him.

"No. You have to remember why you took the role of Inquisitor in the first place- not just for you but for everyone." Solas brought his hand to her face and wiped away a fresh tear.

"I can't-" A sob stopped her from talking and Solas took her in his arms.

"You can," he whispered gently. "You are strong and while this pain will linger, I know you can overcome this. You will go on."

"No," she choked out. "I can't _lose you_."

Guilt raced through Solas fast as wild horses. And before he could even address the cruelty of his relationship with her, the screech of a nearby dragon startled both of them. Sara pulled away from him and wiped her eyes quickly before grabbing her discarded sword and shield. They left the ruins and Solas started toward the camp while Sara turned to follow the dragon.

"Sara, come back," he called. From far away, closer to the dragon, they both heard Iron Bull's enthralled laughter. At the sound, Sara ran toward the fighting and Solas followed her. This recklessness, when consumed by grief, was something he knew well. The worse decisions were made when the mind was clouded with regret and violent melancholy.

_And shouldn't I know_, Solas thought solemnly. In this moment, all the mattered was helping Sara choose a wiser path than he did.

* * *

**Elven Phrases**

_Nehn_: Joy

_Varterral: _A huge creepy spider-like creature, first created by the Elven God, Dirthamen.

_Dareth shiral: _Farewell

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

* * *

**_Thanks for reading! Leave a review!_**


	11. Dungeon

**Hello!**

**So, this chapter is very brief (transitional information, yada yada yada...)**

**I'm posting the following chapter in a few days so that you guys have something substantial to read. **

**Happy Reading!**

**~Garnet**

* * *

**Dungeon**

* * *

The shackle on Sara's wrist was thick and rusty with age. It was one of the first times she was exceedingly grateful for only having one arm, as the lack of skin and nerves meant less pain as she hung in the darkness. There was no telling how long she'd been restrained; she slipped in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. The room around her was pitch black, but Sara could tell it was large because of how small sounds, like drops of water, seemed to echo around her.

After some time, she could feel that she'd been stripped of her velvet gown. The boning of her corset pinched at her sides, as if the strings had been tightened while she slept and she only felt the brush of her silk small-clothes against her thighs. She could hardly feel her toes, they were so cold and numb. The fact that she was hanging, however, offered her some ironic comfort. If she was being held to be questioned, it meant that Briala didn't mean to kill her. Yet.

Regardless, Briala's uncertainty could provide Sara an opportunity for escape.

She felt like an idiot for being captured in the first place. Two potential things occurred that evening: either Briala deceived her into thinking that the note to come from the garden came from Solas, which was probable. Or, which would be soul-shattering, Briala and Solas are secretly allies, working together to remove her as an obstacle.

_Solas had admired Briala,_ Sara thought glumly. _As I did. She's a remarkable woman. Maybe they're lovers now._

Sara laughed humorlessly. _The empress of Orlais and Fen'Harel could forge a powerful union. _Another chuckle flew past her lips and the sudden feeling of madness scared her as much as it caused her to laugh harder. _Please, don't let this be where I die. Mythal protect me. _She hadn't prayed to the gods since the truth of them had been revealed to her. The last time she saw Solas in the flesh. _She wasn't even a goddess. Not really._

She laughed again, helpless. _Mythal. Whomever looks after us_, she thought feebly, _just protect my children._

The low burn of a torch cut through the blackness like a sunbeam and the sudden heavy footsteps echoed off the walls and seemed to make the room suddenly rumble.

"I would be fascinated to know what you find amusing, Comtesse." Briala's voice was low and imposing but also smug and satisfied. She still wore her cloth of gold gown and at her sides were four of her guards, fashioned in the style of depictions of the Emerald Knights of old, with their gilded armor and flowing, green cloaks.

"It humors me that you think that imprisoning me is wise. I'm sure my absence has surely been noted," Sara replied, feigning conjured assurance.

"Ah, yes. Your Qunari companion. He has been informed that you are being held for questioning," Briala told her frankly.

"On what charges?"

"I charge, Comtesse, that you have information on the whereabouts of Fen'Harel and have conspired with him. To what ends, I cannot say." Briala's smile was hazy. "I intend to find out."

"Briala," Sara said, her voice firm but soft as if she was correcting a child, "I haven't had contact with Solas since the Inquisition was disbanded almost four years ago. I am not your enemy."

"Perhaps you aren't." Briala paced a moment, her arms folded across her chest. "Your daughter... She has his eyes."

"She doesn't, Briala." _But she does. Soft blue and quizzical. Curious. Even when she was a baby. Narrow when things confused her and bright with sudden understanding. Like Solas._

"I don't believe you, Comtesse." Briala turned her back to Sara and addressed her guards. "See that I have answers soon."

Sudden panic coursed through Sara. In her experience, most people told their jailers to keep the prisoner alive above all else. Briala had made no such distinction.

"Wait!" Briala made resolute steps away from her but turned her head to listen.

"The note to meet in the garden. Was that from you?" Sara asked, hoping to stall.

Thankfully, Briala stopped walking. "Naturally. I knew the story of Felassan would goad you."

_I'm such a fool_, Sara thought. _Solas is prudent and would never agree to compromise himself by speaking with me._

"Who else would have sent it?"

Briala's question made Sara's stomach drop. _She doesn't know that he's here_, she realized.

"The elf- an older man dressed in blue- he danced with me. Was he sent by you?" Sara asked.

"No. You never answered my question." Briala's voice was low, a measured warning.

Sara swallowed, her mouth dry. "I can't be certain, but some agents of Fen'Harel may be among your guests."

"And you thought one of them sent the note? Just to offer you information at random?" Briala's eyes flickered with sudden anger and she turned to leave once more.

"Two of you," she said to her guards, "take me back to the ballroom. These agents need to be found, questioned and executed. At once. As for you two, the Comtesse's allegiances are not clear to me. Learn what she knows and if she gives you nothing, end her."

"Briala, don't," Sara called after her, her own heart pounding so hard she felt it in her head, throat and toes.

"If I'm correct and you are still allied with Fen'Harel, your death will force him to act. When he does, I'll be ready." None of Sara's screams or pleads for mercy stopped Briala.

When she and her two guards were long gone, the ones that remained extinguished their torch and the dungeon returned to complete darkness.

After a moment, light returned in the form of crackling veilfire. One of the guards took the torch of veilfire in his hand and held it near Sara's face. His eyes were empty, as if he'd been stripped of his soul. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"Veilfire," Sara answered, her voice wavering slightly.

"Corrupted veilfire," he corrected. "Normally, veilfire cannot harm physical beings. However, when corrupted with cursed ashes, veilfire can take on certain properties of natural fire."

He raised the veilfire to just under her arm and she immediately squirmed to get away from the heat. When the flames finally touched her skin, she let out a scream so loud and bestial, she wouldn't be surprised if people heard her miles away.

After several moments, he removed the fire and to Sara's surprise, there was not a smell of burnt flesh. The guard ran his fingers over the place where he put the torch and his touch was almost relieving.

"The corruption gives the veilfire feeling but with no consequences." Sara looked where is fingers rested on her arm; the flesh was unharmed. There wasn't even a redness akin to sunburn.

"Oh," she sighed with sudden understanding. Then pain was real even if the injury was not.

"So, do you know the current whereabouts of Fen'Harel," the other guard asked abruptly, his tone biting and cruel.

Sara inhaled, preparing her mind for the pain that would surely follow. _It's not real fire. It's only pain._

"I don't," she said resolutely and, yet, all her resolve faded as the flames burned their way through her back, just up her spine, which caused the burning to travel through her body fervently. She felt the fire from her fingers to her knees to the top of her head. She could nearly feel her eyes melting. All she could do was _feel_. Her mind was as blank as her jailer's eyes. The only things that existed were her body and the flames.

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**No New Elven Phrases**

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**Thank for reading! Please Review!**


	12. Banal Silaima VI

**Yo!**

**So, this fics progressing pretty well, right? **

**We're coming up on the first anniversary in a few weeks, so maybe by then we'll wrap up Part 1.**

**(I won't hold my breath tho, I take a while to get these chapters out)**

**Anyhoo! Happy Reading!**

**~Garnet**

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**Banal Silaima VI**

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Memories danced through Solas similarly to the elves crowded in the ballroom at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. The smiles on their faces were mirthful and spirited as children, young enough to be unaffected by grief, famine or despair. It was fascinating, though disturbing; these elves already embraced and celebrated a monumental shift in power through Briala's ascension to the throne of Orlais, even though her position was far from secure.

The Valmont family would not allow Briala to make any major changes; that is if they allowed her to live very long at all.

Frankly, it was Solas' intention to ensure that Briala governed for as long as possible. Her hasty gathering of elves to serve as courtiers, advisers and enchanters offered Solas an invaluable opportunity to position his own agents within Orlais. Briala's coronation and following banquet was such a large occasion that it suited Solas to attend secretly and observe the powers at play in Briala's court.

Ever attached to the past, Briala reformed the Emerald Knights to serve as her personal guards. They marched about the palace in their gilded armor and vibrant cloaks with a swaggering air of invulnerability. The new empress was draped in gold silk, her hair twisted into an intricate bun decorated with golden roses and a string of pearls.

The new Elven nobility still opted for Orlesian masks, though now they were designed with carvings in the fashion of Dalish vallaslin. One of Solas' agents managed to procure one, which offered Solas a simple disguise to wear while navigating the palace. He also wore a dark blue hooded cape lined with samite. He was plain-looking and unobtrusive; the servants barely offered him a second glance.

Only a single agent in attendance at the ball kept routine correspondence with Solas throughout the evening. Of course he instructed over a dozen agents to mingle within the guests, but only Dahn was permitted to speak directly with Solas.

Dahn was recruited as an agent by Felassan before Solas joined the Inquisition. Felassan brought Dahn from the alienage in Val Royeaux. There, Dahn lived most of his life hiding the fact the he was a mage and was all but tranquil by choice before Felassan recruited him to serve Solas. Dahn was subtly placed at Haven before its destruction and blended in as a refugee at Skyhold for years before he was called to officially serve as an agent.

At first, he merely observed and carried information between agents. After the attempted Qunari invasion, Dahn became a liaison between Solas' agents and the flock of elves that were evacuating their alienages or clans to seek out Fen'Harel.

He was an excellent intermediary, with his rather austere looks and mild voice; positioned that no one would imagine his position as a direct contact with Solas for many years now.

Solas had wandered the palace inconspicuously, with hopes to remain perched above the other guests to best note unusual comings and go–

And there she was... he should have been prepared to see her, but...

Sara Lavellan climbed the stairs to the Empress' upper gallery with an air of unfractured dignity and behind her, The Iron Bull served as her imposing protector. She remained behind the wall of Emerald Knights that lined the upper gallery for only a few moments. When she emerged, her facade of poise was ruffled slightly; her face was flushed from her cheeks down to her neck and the tops of her shoulders.

She'd always had lovely, lithe shoulders. Before, he'd anoint her shoulders with kisses; a kiss for every nearly imperceptible freckle.

But that was before. Now he had- he had no right to think of her that way.

Sara immediately went to consult with Iron Bull and Solas watched him skulk off across the room and all too soon, several members of the former Inquisition had gathered across the ballroom. They were playing a dangerous Game; their presence would only cause people mistrust. The Inquisition was disbanded, thus the act of their meeting, particularly at the gathering to honor the new empress of Orlais, was a mistake.

Solas quickly found Dahn nearby, observing the conversation as well.

"I want you to speak with Lady Lavellan for me," Solas whispered without preamble.

"As you wish, _Hahren_," Dahn replied. His voice was low and careful. "Is that wise?"

Solas' jaw clenched in shame. "No," he admitted. "But give her my regards and tell her that I hope she finds whatever it is that she's clearly looking for." Knowing Sara, she'd likely uncovered every stone in this palace.

While Dahn went to heed his request, Solas re-positioned himself elsewhere in the ballroom. Something was clearly developing between Sara and Briala. Something so important that Sara decided to gather with her former allies in public under scrutiny. Whatever was happening, he wished to know; he left Sara with the hopes that she'd live comfortably. He only hoped that she wasn't taking unnecessary risks.

"_Hahren._" Dahn found him with hesitant eyes. "Lady Lavellan asked to speak with you."

"No," Solas grunted curtly.

"I informed her that it was impossible," Dahn murmured, abashed. "She seemed frantic, _Hahren_. Nervous even. She claimed that she wanted to ask you about Empress Briala and Felassan."

And more elements fell into what was already an odd situation. Sara. Briala. Felassan. The disbanded Inquisition. The Orlesian Empire.

"I told her that Felassan was a traitor," Dahn continued. Solas looked at him coolly, suspicion nearly overwhelming him. "You should not have told her anything," he scolded.

Dahn stiffened, his eyes wide and sorry. "I only wished–"

"You do not speak for me," Solas snapped. "Not to her."

"Yes, _Hahren._"

* * *

Solas lingered at the Winter Palace for another reckless hour, his mind racing with memories and pondering.

He ultimately decided that Sara's interest in Felassan and her odd, uneasy meetings with her old allies were not his concern. He decided to depart from the palace when Briala descended from her gallery with a pair of guards. She crossed the room slowly, allowing her new subjects to kiss her hand respectfully or tell her how lovely she looked before stopping to speak with a dark haired woman in a modest, violet gown.

_That isn't just a_ woman, Solas realized suddenly. _That is Josephine._

He watched their exchange closely, but even a woman as learned in etiquette as Josephine could not hide when she was in shock. Solas approached them covertly, stopping every other step to blend with the crowd of people and still hear their conversation. By the time he was close enough to hear them, Cassandra had also joined the discussion.

"–that we can do," Josephine was pleading. "I promise, you have nothing to be concerned about."

"I will determine that after some questioning, Lady Montilyet," Briala replied coldly. "Comtesse Lavellan and the Inquisition's ties to Fen'Harel were overlooked because we had a greater enemy in Corypheus and the Qunari. I find it passing strange that the Inquisition disbands as Fen'Harel begins to seize agents. Almost as if to support his efforts covertly."

Solas felt his fists close, almost against his will. He'd deliberately left the Inquisition to remove Sara from his plans. Briala's suspicion of her was maddening.

"This is madness!" Cassandra boomed, ever uncouth though accurate. "The Comtesse is not Orlesian. You have no right to hold her without the permission of Viscount Tethras."

Briala shrugged dismissively. "Viscount Tethras is not here."

"He was delayed, but he is in Orlais, I assure you," Josephine explained. "When he arrives, he will not be pleased with the imprisoning of his citizen and friend."

"Not to mention Divine Victoria." Cassandra crossed her arms. "She is also disgusted at your accusations and actions against the Comtesse."

"Grand Enchanter Vivienne will take offense as well," Josephine reminded the empress.

"And Hawke," Cassandra grunted.

If Briala was intimidated, her face did not betray her thoughts. That was unnerving. She could not care less about the friends and allies that Sara had.

"Do you know who else will be outraged by the Comtesse's imprisonment?" Briala's smile was small and satisfied. "Fen'Harel."

_She is not wrong_, Solas thought, his palms moistening and heart drumming in his chest. _But I cannot afford to be baited._

"Empress Briala, please see reason." Josephine seemed to be on the verge of tears. "Comtesse Lavellan has lived in Kirkwall for four years. Most of the Free Marches have been devoid of word of Solas and his agents. There has–"

"You still speak of Fen'Harel familiarly, Lady Montilyet," Briala interrupted with sudden rage, "knowing that he intends to destroy this world?"

"I misspoke–"

"Your Solas is a traitor and a murderer!" The crowd in the ballroom began to stare at their empress in shock. "And your Comtesse would stand beside him through anything. If Viscount Tethras wishes to petition for her, he may in person. But until then, she will test her loyalty to the last true elves and all the people of Thedas." Briala suddenly seemed to realize that she made a performance of her anger, so she composed herself and strode from the ballroom in silence, her new Emerald Knights trailing behind her.

All slowly fell into place as Solas stepped from the congested ballroom and outside into the cool garden to think.

_Briala views me as an enemy of Orlais, likely for Felassan and the loss of the eluvians._ This did not surprise Solas. There would always be consequences for what ultimately happened to Felassan.

_Yet, Bri__ala also views Sara as an ally to me, thus another enemy to Orlais. She imprisoned Sara to goad me... She wants me to take action but how far will she go to bait me?_

Solas felt his stomach twist in dread. Briala was powerful, ruthless and fair. She would lose no sleep trading Sara's life for Felassan's.

_It is almost poetic, _Solas thought bitterly. _I took her hahren, so she'll take my heart._

If he wanted Sara to die, Solas would have let her come away with him when she asked.

"Let me help you, Solas... _Var lath vir suledin_..."

_I surrendered Sara to give her some years of peace... _Solas straightened his cloak around his shoulders resolutely. _Briala will not invalidate_ _my decision._

* * *

The dungeons of the Winter Palace somehow reflected the opulence of the upper floors. The stone floors were laid intricately, similarly to the mosaic tiles of ancient elven architecture, but without the glossy shine. The bars of each cell were gilded and intersected in a diamond pattern. Every fifty feet, a dim sconce flickered pitifully and the halls of cells went like this for three descending floors.

The prisoners, each as haggard and defeated as the last, sunk into slumber as Solas passed them. The fewer people knew of this madness the better.

Each floor was curiously unguarded, so Solas walked with hesitant, weary steps. If he was being baited by the empress, he would need to think of an escape quickly, without compromising his position.

Granted the very decision to rescue Sara compromised him, but why dig a deeper hole to climb out of.

He was midway down the second descended hallway when he heard a scream from below so harrowing it made his stomach turn. During his time in the Inquisition, he was spared witnessing any of Sara's serious injuries. When he was with her, she managed to only walk away from fights with cuts, burns and bruises; all manageable injuries in her experience. She one told him that she'd broken a bone as a girl and that hurt more than being pierced by a Hurlock's arrow. She said that as she pulled said arrow from her shoulder with no more than a hiss from the stinging.

Knowing that the scream that echoed through the dungeons were likely hers and that she was in such deep pain made him quicken his steps. As he walked down the final flight of stairs, the screaming suddenly stopped. Deep voices mumbled down the hall and the light reflected on the walls was the bright blue-green of veilfire.

Two emerald knights talked outside of a cell in the middle of the hall. "I don't know..." one was saying, "... she claims she doesn't know."

"The empress' orders were clear," the other grunted smugly. "She isn't supposed to survive."

That was enough for Solas: he glided quickly toward them, forcing the reluctant knight's head against the wall where he fell quickly unconscious. The smug one fumbled for the blade at his waist, but he was too slow. Solas grabbed his sword hand and enshrouded it with ice. With his other hand he covered the knight's mouth to quiet his inevitable scream as the ice shattered, separating his hand from his arm.

The smug one quickly fainted from shock as Solas reached in his pocket for a spare key to the cell. Inside, Sara hung from the ceiling, her hands bound above her head, completely unconscious. She was pale and clammy, her veins blue and pronounced against her skin. Her lips were cracked and swollen with dry blood where she likely bit down in pain. Solas gently unshackled her hands from their restraints and held on to her around her waist so she wouldn't fall on the hard ground. Her wooden arm, though craftily made, was splinted around the faux wrist. He couldn't initially see where they tortured her, but as he examined her body he noted dark bruises scattered up her thighs.

Solas repressed a sudden flood of rage and wrapped his cloak around her before taking her in his arms.

As he climbed the first staircase, shouting and banging echoed through the hall. Solas was relieved that the probable fighting was another floor higher. Perhaps he could use whatever was happening as a diversion to aid his escape.

Far too many knights surrounded the Iron Bull as he swung his monstrous axe to keep them at bay. He'd charged the dungeons alone; a bold but foolish decision. Solas remotely incapacitated as many knights as he could without arousing suspicion and eventually, only a handful remained for Iron Bull to defeat.

They met eyes after Iron Bull took a tired breath and he flexed his grip on his axe.

"You," Iron Bull muttered.

"Yes," Solas replied, ready for a sudden strike.

"Is that the Boss?"

"It is," Solas admitted.

"How did you know she was in trouble?" Iron Bull's voice was more curious than accusing.

"I have my ways of knowing." Solas shifted and took a few steps toward him.

"And you're saving her because...?"

Solas smiled gently. "I'm sure you know why."

The clattering of approaching armor rang through the halls. They would not be alone much longer.

"I don't wish to fight you," Solas warned.

Iron Bull all but roared with laughter. "I'm sure you don't."

"This is not a joke." The steps increased in volume. "We don't have time for this. Briala means to kill her."

All too soon, the only exit was blocked by a garrison of Knights. Iron Bull fidgeted with his axe as the room filled with tension, everyone waiting for someone to attack.

"Fuck," Iron Bull swore and groaned angrily. "I'll hold them off."

Solas met his glare with a curt nod. He stood behind Iron Bull as he cleared a path for them. At the first opening, Solas held Sara tighter against him and maneuvered through the knights. He shattered the first window he came across in the palace and leapt from it gracefully, the Winter Palace becoming smaller and smaller as they escaped into the night.

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**Elven Phrases**

_Var lath vir suledin_: Our love will endure/prevail

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

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**_Thanks for reading. Leave a review!_**


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